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Wayfarers in the 
Libyan Desert 



■ ) 

Frances Gordon Alexander 



With Sixty Illustrations 

from Photographs 

and a Map 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

Zbc Iknicfterbocfter press 

1912 






Copyright, 1Q12 

BY 

FRANCES GORDON ALEXANDER 



Zbc Iftnfcftetbocfecr ptces, "Rcw Korfe 



CI.A330112 
^ / 




PREFACE 

THE following pages are the impressions 
of two wayfarers who, starting from 
Cairo, made an expedition into the Libyan 
Desert, the northeastern corner of the 
Great Sahara, as far as the oasis of the 
Fayoum. 

For two women to start upon a camping 
trip in the desert, with only an Arab 
retinue to protect them, seems to some of 
our friends to show a too high sense of 
adventure. But it is perfectly safe and 
feasible. Provided a well recommended 



111 



Preface 

dragoman has been selected to take charge of 
the expediton, one is free from all responsi- 
bility and care. He provides the camels, 
donkeys, tents, servants, supplies, and acts 
as guide, interpreter, and majordomo. 

The price, part of which is usually paid 
in advance and the remainder after the 
journey is finished, is naturally dependent 
on the size of the caravan. 

The comfort in which one travels de- 
pends in part upon the amount of money 
expended, but in great measure upon the 
executive ability and honesty of the drago- 
man. As the licensed dragoman would be 
answerable if any accident were to befall a 
party under his charge, every precaution 
is taken. As the guards patrol before the 
tents in the silent, starlit nights, one feels 
as safe as in a crowded city — quite as safe 
and much happier. 

F. G. A. 

New York, October i, 1912. 



IV 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 




PAGE 


I 


Our First Encampment . 


I 


II 


Dervishes of Gizeh 


9 


III 


On to Sakhara 


21 


IV 


A City of the Dead 


. 37 


V 


A Day at Dashoor 


^ 56 


VI 


A Visit to a Harem 


. 63 


VII 


Shifting Sands 


. 72 


VIII 


Lost in a Sandstorm 


. 80 


IX 


By Lake Kurun 


. 88 


X 


The Road to Senouris . 


. 95 


XI 


A Garden of Allah 


• 115 


XII 


Rose Gardens of Feddamin 


. 127 


XIII 


Medina .... 


• 155 


XIV 


The First Suffragette . 


. 177 


XV 


Our Life in Camp . 

V 


. 198 



Contents 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XVI A Runaway Lunch . . . .214 

XVII An Afrite ..... 233 

XVIII Our Journey's End . . . 245 



VI 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



on the edge of the desert 

the sphinx 

fadlallah and toulba , 

pyramids of gizeh 

said, donkey boy, and alt 

water carriers 

mohammedan cemetery . 

a native village . 

carding wool 

sails on the nile . 

marabout's tomb . 

the edge of cultivation 

the setting sun 

drinking water 

the waves of the desert 

a glimpse of the sahara 

vii 



Frontispiece 



PAGE 



y 



./ 



3 
9/ 

21^ 

23 -^ 

27>^ 

34 

37^ 
51^ 
56^ 

72'^ 
80-^ 



y 



Illvistrations 



A BEDOUIN ENCAMPMENT 

A FAYOUM CANAL 

A BEDOUIN GIRL . 

WATER BUFFALO 

A TRAVELLER .... 

SHIPS OF THE DESERT 

ON THE ROAD .... 

AN EGYPTIAN BUFFALO 

MARKET-PLACE IN SENOURIS 

A MOVING OBSTRUCTION . 

A HEAVILY LOADED CAMEL TRAIN 

THE WELL-WATERED FAYOUM 

MARKET DAY .... 

SNAKE CHARMER 

A BRIDGE AT MEDINA 

A TYPICAL VILLAGE 

PIGEON HOUSES 

THE BUSIEST STREET IN THE TOWN 

GIRL WITH WATER JAR 

AGAINST THE EVENING SKY 

A WEDDING PARTY . 

viii 



y 



PAGE 

99- 
[03 

[07 

13-^ 

17- 

[29-^ 

[33^ 



[35 
[39 



1^ 



/ 



[43/ 



/ 



^55^ 

[57 — 

[61'-'' 

[65- 
[68-- 

77^ 
79 y 



Illvislrations 



a road in the fayoum . 

an inland shadouf 

bas-relief of seti i . . . 

a highway in the desert 

pyramid of medun 

a frightened bedouin . 

king chephren .... 

a modern mona lisa 

the lost lunch .... 

pigeon houses .... 

a grove of old palms 

at prayer ..... 

a dry canal ..... 

abdullah, servant of the three beys 

a tiller of the fields . 

a sakieh at work 

marabout's tomb .... 

loaded camels .... 



PAGE 
I8l- 

1931/ 

196^ 

198-^ 

209"^ 

214^ 

2171/ 

219^ 

2271^ 

233"^ 
235^ 
239^ 

245-^ 

246^ 

249 «^ 

251^ 

255*^ 

257*^ 



ax 



Wayfarers in the Libyan 
Desert 




Wayfarers in the Libyan 
Desert 



OUR FIRST ENCAMPMENT 



TT is Thursday the twenty-third of Feb- 
-'■ ruary, and the first hot day of the 
season. 

Has this brilHant sun and cloudless sky 
come as a good omen to start us on our 
expedition through the desert? 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

It is to the Fayoum we are wending our 
way; the land of golden plenty, where the 
fig tree and the olive abound, where the 
vine and the lemon flourish, where roses 
and mimosa scent the air, and where the 
glancing water, flowing through the irrigat- 
ing canals, carries life and plenty through 
the fertile land — ^an enchanting vision after 
shivering in the cold winds and under the 
gray skies of Cairo, watching clouds that 
damp our spirits and chill the air, but 
whose rain never seems to lay the dust that 
swirls and meets us at every street comer. 

We are two pilgrims seeking warmth 
and sunshine, only too anxious to shake 
the dust of Cairo from our feet. We have 
rid ourselves, as far as possible, of all 
impedimenta. 

When luncheon is over our maids start 
in a motor from Cairo with our slender 
luggage, and we follow in another to the 
Mena House Hotel on the edge of the 
Libyan Desert — the desert which stretches 



0\ir First Encampment 



from the Nile on the east to the Sahara on 
the south and west. 

After a short run we descend from the 
noisy motor and find Fadlallah, the drago- 
man, waiting to take charge of our httle 
party. 

Our belongings are packed on a camel, 
and with light hearts we mount our donkeys 
and start for 
the camp and 
the free roving 
life which 
awaits us. 

The camp 
has been 
pitched three 
miles away. 
Quite a small 
settlement it 
looks with the 
white tents 
shining in the ^ 

afternoon sun. Fadlallah and Toulba 

3 




In tKe Libyan Desert 

Our caravan consists of twelve baggage 
camels, a sand-cart and pony, and five 
riding donkeys; while our Arab retinue 
numbers twenty-five, including our drago- 
man Fadlallah and his small son Toulba, 
who soon deserved'y earns the name of the 
Terrible; Reshid, the second dragoman, 
who in our marches is to conduct the slow- 
moving caravan; Ahmed and Abd-es- 
Sadak, the waiters; Muhommed, the cook, 
and his assistant ; Said, the horseman, and 
the camel men and donkey boys. 

We have four sleeping tents, for our 
maids and ourselves, our kitchen and din- 
ing tents, and a smaller one, carried on a 
dromedary, to be pitched during the day 
while we take lunch and a siesta. 

To-night we camp near the Gizeh pyra- 
mids — those mighty sepulchres of dead 
kings, built in the far remoteness of time. 
Tradition relates that for over a century, 
while they were building, the temples were 
closed, sacrifices abolished, and the life of 

4 



Our First Encampment 

the nation was at a standstill, while the 
whole population was forced to labor in 
bringing the huge stones from the Arabian 
quarries, and in making of them these 
stupendous monuments. 

"Pharaoh could see them from the terraces 
of his palace, from the gardens of his villa, 
and from every point in the plain in which 
he might reside, between Heliopolis and 
Medum : a constant reminder of the lot which 
awaited him in spite of his divine origin."^ 

Our tents fascinate us with their bril- 
liant colored linings and quaint designs 
in blue, green, white, and scarlet. Passages 
from the Koran in the beautiful Arabic 
characters adorn the walls, the effect of it 
all being very restful to the eyes. Though 
we can see these tents made any day in 
the tent bazaar, the design dates from the 
Saracenic period, and is probably the same 
as that used by Saladin in the time of the 
Crusaders. 

^ Maspero, Dawn of Civilization. 

5 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

In the far off centuries, such tents were 
in use in India, with the decorations repre- 
senting men and beasts ; but on the coming 
of Mohammed, whose religion forbids the 
portraying of the human form, the Ara- 
besque was substituted by his followers, 
and remains to this day an attractive 
example of Mohammedan art. 

The sunlight streams across the door- 
ways of our tents. The endless azure sky, 
the purple hills, call us. We wander out 
into the desert and look across the golden 
sands to the end of the world — a "march 
of a thousand days, " as the Bedouins say. 
The undulating sands are like great waves 
of the sea ; and mounting one of the crests, 
there is suddenly disclosed a troup of 
camels tended by an Arab. 

The tops of the pyramids stand faint 
lilac against the opal sky. We pass 
on, losing the camels and their solitary 
guardian. This is one of the continual 

6 



0\ir First Encampment 

surprises and fascinations of the desert. 
A few feet upward and new wonders 
are disclosed. A slight descent into the 
hollow of the sands, and, as if by magic, 
the things just seen have disappeared. 
To be lost is the easiest thing in the 
world. 

We advance, and range upon range of 
hills palpitate in the radiant air. What 
marvellous things may not await one be- 
yond these reaches of glowing sand ! The 
restlessness and mad endeavor of modern 
life viewed from these broad horizons, 
from this large simplicity, seem arid and 
common, and much of the strenuous run- 
ning back and forth on the earth but a 
cheating semblance of life and death to the 
soul. In the desert all pettiness drops 
away, and the spirit seems to break the 
bonds which hold it. Beyond each succes- 
sive hilltop the blue bird flutters: no hope 
is too high, no dream unrealizable. There 
is no satiety, and the best gift of all is the 

7 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

conviction that this is endless — new mar- 
vels, new beauties, new life. Just beyond 
must lie the "things longed for and found 
not here. " 



8 




Photo, Hiesinger 



II 



DERVISHES OF GIZEH 



Friday, February 24th. 

/^^UR tents are pitched in a semicircle 
^^ facing east, with the animals, camel 
drivers, and other attendants some dis- 
tance to the left. 

Toulba trots about the camp, a quaint 
little figure in a blue silk robe, a scarlet 
tarbouche perched jauntily on his head, his 
black cloak trailing in the sand. He pos- 
sesses a small black slave from the Soudan, 

9 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

named AH, whose duties consist in amus- 
ing Toulba and preventing him from get- 
ting into mischief. They are a quaint 
pair, enjoying Hfe in a quiet, sedate fashion. 
Ali is clad in a single white cotton garment, 
which falls in straight folds from his neck 
to his ankles, and wears a white skull-cap 
on his woolly head. His years number 
nine, and his whole responsibility in life is 
his little master, whom he worships with a 
blind adoration totally undeserved by 
Toulba. 

Our little camp gives us much pleasure. 
In the animals, and more especially the 
dromedary, we have a happy feeling of 
proprietorship. 

We pat the donkeys, the patient, sure- 
footed little beasts who are to carry us so 
many miles. For we are to ride them 
when we do not use the sand-cart, as we 
do not care for the gait of the camel or 
dromedary. 

We feed the white pony with sugar, and 

lO 



DervisKes of GizeH 

attempt to give some to the camels, but 
they receive our attentions with super- 
cilious contempt. We visit the kitchen tent 
to see Muhommed, an old Nubian of large 




Said, donkey boy, and AH 

presence and dignity, who proudly informs 
us he was once cook to General Grenfell 
Pasha. We look with interest on these 
Arabs, who are to be our companions in 
our nomad life. Abd-es-Sadak and Ah- 
med, two Bedouin youths dressed in im- 

II 



In, tHe Libyan Desert 

maculate white garments with red sashes, 
will jointly perform the duties of waiter 
and housemaid, while Reshid is the watch- 
man told off to guard the section of the 
camp we occupy. Often in the future will 
we hear the soft sound of his bare feet in 
the night, and see his dark form, with a gun 
slung over his shoulder, outlined against 
the starlit sky. For we sleep with the 
door of our tents flung open, and we wake 
to the welcome of the morning sun. 

Last night under the full moon, the 
desert glowed with a rose -white light, and 
the pyramids stood out as giant guardians 
of the past; sentinels of the desert that 
have seen the rise and fall of dynasties, the 
ebb and flow of civilizations, the glory and 
the death of empires ; and that still remain 
unmoved, wrapped in a cloak of impene- 
trable silence, guarding the secrets of the 
ages. 

Nature has dealt very gently with the 

12 



DervisKes of GizeK 

monuments in this land of perpetual sun- 
shine. It is the hand of man that has 
destroyed so much. The Hyksos and the 
Persians ransacked the pyramids and over- 
threw many of the temples, and the Arabs 
have mutilated the statues which their 
religion bids them regard as unholy. Me- 
hemet AH threw down one of the beautiful 
propylae of Karnac to obtain lime for some 
paltry nitre works, though the limestone 
ridges of Thebes were close by; and six 
hundred years ago Sultan Hassan stripped 
the Great Pyramid of its outer covering 
of polished granite to build the mosque 
which bears his name. 

To-day being Friday, the Mohammedan 
Sunday, we are taken to see the dervishes, 
who at midday hold a service in a cave 
near the pyramids. Though we must 
often have passed close to their holy place, 
we have had no idea of its existence. 

Near the steps leading down to the 
opening of the cave are a number of camels, 

13 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

horses, and donkeys held by boys, while 
the owners are within. The entrance is 
crowded, a way being made for us with 
difficulty, as Mohammedans strongly ob- 
ject to the presence of unbelievers. 

On entering the cave we take off our 
shoes, for we are treading on sacred 
ground, and find ourselves in a low, dark 
room full of Arabs swaying slowly back- 
ward and forward, ejaculating "Allah, 
Allah," while a reed flute repeats a few 
notes with ceaseless monotony. 

As the strange music rings louder and 
fiercer, their gestures become more violent, 
their faces are alight with a wild exulta- 
tion; in their eyes gleams the flame of a 
passionate faith. The long hair of the 
dervishes falls back and forth across their 
faces, as they bend themselves forward to 
the ground and back again with monoto- 
nous regularity. They fling themselves 
to and fro till they look like dark snakes 
twisting and writhing. Flecks of foam 

14 



DervisKes of GizeK 

are on their lips; sweat is pouring from 
their bodies; and the cave resounds with 
cries that resemble the sullen roar of an 
angry sea. The heat is terrific. 

In another cave partially walled off, are 
women whose eyes shine with the same 
intense emotion, whose every movement 
suggests a rapturous ecstasy. 

These Bedouins soon lash themselves 
into a state of religious frenzy and self- 
hypnotism. If one of them is suffering 
in mind or body, he thinks it is caused by 
an evil spirit which has entered into him, 
but that the name of Allah, combined with 
the ceaseless motion and the sacred sur- 
roundings, will drive forth the afrite. 

They all firmly believe that every Thurs- 
day night the spirits of five of their most 
holy marabouts meet to hold converse in 
this cave. Nothing would induce an Arab 
to enter on that night, for he knows that 
punishment for his temerity would surely 
follow. 

15 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

On leaving we attempt to photograph 
some of the groups as they stream by, but 
desist on seeing that many object. 

We pass the Sphinx on our way back to 
camp, pausing, as all must pause, before 
the eternal wonder of this monument of 
man's creation. Hewn from the solid rock, 
it crouches in the desert sand, its sightless 
eyes turned to the east, with an expression 
of limitless patience and unfathomable 
mystery. 

There is music in our camp ; for Said, the 
horseman, with his faint smile and the 
far-away look of one listening to something 
at a distance, is a real Pan of the desert, 
evoking from his reed flute all manner of 
elusive and plaintive notes suggestive of 
the infancy of music — birdlike notes with 
a sad undercurrent as of an imprisoned 
soul struggling for expression. He is some- 
times accompanied by others, who play 
the derabukka, or clap hands in rhythm to 

i6 



DervisKes of Gi;seH 

the weird airs. The beaten tom-toms add 
something almost violent. At first the 
music sounds monotonous, but gradually 
unrecognized cadences, palpitating with 
the impenetrable soul of the East, grow 
upon one until one is captured by the 
strange spell. Occasionally one of the 
camel drivers steals up and joins in 
the slow dancing of the Bedouins. 

The Bedouin came originally from Ara- 
bia. Now he is a wanderer in the great 
Sahara, Libyan, Syrian, and Arabian 
deserts. A tribe will number from 3000 
to 100,000 people, all owning camels, sheep, 
and goats. When it moves it sweeps over 
great tracts of country, forcing before it 
wolves, jackals, gazelles, and all the wild 
creatures of the desert. The approach of 
these animals will often warn a tribe that 
another is advancing. These sons of Ish- 
mael trade in dates, bananas, henna, and 
sugar cane, which they bring from far 
oases to the cities near the sea, returning 

17 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

eventually with tobacco, tea, coffee, and 
grain. 

There are immense caravans guarded by 
warlike nomads, where every man is 
armed to the teeth, trading with the Soudan 
and beyond. They once trafficked largely 
in slaves. Now they go in quest of ivory, 
gold dust, ostrich feathers, and the rich 
produce of the far South. 

These rich caravans travel in fear of the 
roving hordes of desert robbers who are 
ever ready to pounce on a defenceless 
caravan. Their most dreaded foes are the 
fierce Touaregs, a powerful race, who are 
known as the God forsaken, and who have 
no word for law. These curious beings 
keep their faces hidden behind a sort of- 
black mask, even in the presence of their 
own families. They inhabit remote oases 
in the Sahara and rove over a country as 
large as Russia. Mounted on the famous 
breed of white camels, the swiftest in the 
desert, they will secretly track a caravan 

i8 



DervisKes of Gizelrx 

for weeks, waiting their opportunity to 
strike. The desert alone is witness of the 
scene of slaughter that ensues, for it is a 
fight to the death. No quarter is asked 
or given, no exception made for women or 
little children. None may survive to tell 
the hideous tale. The sands are red when 
all is over; the victors vanish with their 
spoil. In the silence of the night the wild 
beasts of the desert come to the smell of 
blood. When the sun rises, no sign re- 
mains of the awful tragedy save a few 
whitening bones. 

To be lost in the waterless desert is the 
haunting fear of the nomad, but these hu- 
man tigers, who rarely attack unless con- 
fident of success, are even more dreaded. 

The food of the nomad consists chiefly 
of dates, milk, and bread. They make the 
last by grinding the grain between tw^o 
stones, mixing it with a little milk and 
baking it in a hole scooped in the sand, in 
which they light their fire. 

19 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

The camel and the goat supply most of 
the simple wants of the Bedouin. Their 
women weave the tents from the hair of 
the goat, which also supplies them with 
milk and food, while the camel gives them 
fuel, milk, and material for their clothes. 
The hair of the young camel, shorn at two 
years old, makes the beautiful, soft camel' s- 
hair shawls one sees in the bazaars. When 
the animal's coat grows coarser with age 
and repeated clippings, it is used for 
blankets, cloaks, tarbouches, and carpets. 

The dromedary is of finer build than the 
camel, and is very fleet of foot. It often 
travels from seventy to a hundred miles 
at a stretch, covering the ground with a 
swift, easy motion. The dromedary is the 
race-horse of the desert, and has earned 
the picturesque title of "Child of the 
vanishing wind." 



20 




Ill 



ON TO SAKHARA 



Saturday, February 25th. 

/^^N waking in the morning, the shout - 
^■^^ ing of the Arabs, the muttering and 
gurgHng of the camels, the braying of the 
donkeys, tell us with no uncertain voice 
that we are moving camp. 

We sit on a hillock of sand watching our 
tents fall and our bedsteads hoisted on the 
humps of the camels, there to see-saw all 
day in giddy fashion, while carpets, chairs, 
portmanteaux, and kitchen utensils are 
slung in nets, to bump against the patient 
sides of the long-suffering animals. 

21 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

The long procession starts, the camels 
walking away with a dignified, disdainful 
tread peculiar to that animal. Our Bed- 
ouins stride along with bare feet beside 
them. Only Muhommed, the Nubian 
cook, in view of his sixty-odd years, is 
permitted to ride; for the Arabs are very 
kind to the old, always treating them with 
great consideration. 

We skirt along the desert, keeping the 
valley of the Nile in sight near the pyra- 
mids of Abusir, and pass a cemetery with 
its mounds of sun-baked clay, sometimes 
covered by pagoda-like structures open 
at the sides, and sometimes by curious 
dome-shaped tombs, indicating the burial- 
places of marabouts or other important 
persons. 

''There," said Abd-es-Sadak, "is my 
father's house." But we could see no 
house. * ' My father's room, ' ' he explained. 
*'He is buried there." Mohammedan as 
he is, there still lurks a trace of the old 

22 



On to SaKHara 

Egyptian belief in the continuation of a 
material life on earth. 

We round the top of a desert dune and 
beneath us in a haze of green lies the vil- 
lage of Sakhara, picturesque in its palm 
woods ; and are greeted as usual by barking 
and snarling dogs, with their mongrel 
appearance, their dirt, their sores, their 
furtive and treacherous ways. The pariah 
dog, wherever he is to be found in the East, 
seems not quite to belong to the canine 
race. He is not the friend and companion 
of man, but a wretched freebooter living 
on the community. At best he is dis- 
regarded, but often he is treated with 
blood-curdling cruelty, which we would 
find almost unendurable if even to our- 
selves he did not seem of a race alien to 
the dogs we know. 

As we passed, our attention was arrested 
by the figure of a woman sitting on the 
threshold of a mud hut. Her veil had 
fallen back and hung in long folds across 

25 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

her gown. Her hands were clasped about 
her knees, her beautiful face was half 
turned away, and her large dark eyes were 
fixed on the horizon, with a look of unutter- 
able sadness. She did not stir or glance 
towards us, though our cavalcade passed 
quite close to her. Was she deaf or blind, 
or simply (as she seemed) one who had 
passed beyond despair, for whom the inci- 
dents of life had ceased to count, living 
in a "no man's land" where hope and 
sorrow and fear can no longer enter? 

The houses of sun-baked mud are usu- 
ally more or less dilapidated, for to keep 
anything in repair is alien to the Eastern 
mind. But one stands out conspicuously 
in a coat of fresh, yellow-tinted whitewash, 
with cabalistic -looking drawings in red and 
blue rudely scrawled upon it, as if by the 
hand of a child. "That," says Ahmed, 
with pride, "is the house of a very holy 
man who has just made the pilgrimage to 
Mecca." 

26 



On to SaKKara 

In the eyes of the people the pilgrimage 
to Mecca still remains a tremendous enter- 
prise, worthy of admiration and reverence. 
In the old days, when the slow journeyings 
across the desert with a camel caravan 
sometimes took years, and the dangers of 
the road were many, it may well have 
seemed a great test of faith ; but now, with 
railways and steamers, it is fast losing any 
quality of hazardous adventure. The huge 
railroad station for Mecca at Damascus 
suggests the tripper to Brighton or Coney 
Island. And even the Holy Carpet goes 
by rail although it is carried on a camel, 
especially appointed for this service, to the 
outskirts of the town, and departs and 
arrives with all the old-time ceremony. 
The c rpet itself is covered from the public 
gaze by a howdah on the back of the sacred 
camel, and is accompanied by a procession 
of others richly caparisoned, and by gor- 
geously dressed dignitaries, holy men, and 
retainers. It is awaited by a great multi- 

29 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

tude of high and low, who have the 
appearance of being impressed. Thus ' ' the 
old order changes, giving place to the new.'* 

At noon our lunch is spread in a sandy 
hollow, and we gladly rest our weary limbs 
on cushions which appear very soft after 
the long hours in the saddle. Man and 
beast alike partake of refreshment, after 
which the Arabs lie inert, with muffled 
heads to protect themselves from the sun. 
Toulba has tossed aside his cloak and 
crept into the shade of our tent. He is 
fast asleep, his little face upturned, while 
his faithful slave keeps watch that no flies 
steal on his sacred nose. 

Our caravan passes while we drowse the 
hot hours away; we hear the soft thud of 
the camels' feet and the droning voices of 
the men as they urge their beasts onward. 

We look with interest at the beetles 
crawling in the sand, for are not they the 
descendants of the famous scarabs of his- 

30 



On to SaKHara 

tory, whom the ancient Egyptians wor- 
shipped as emblems of eternal life? The 
female deposits her eggs in the soft mud 
of the Nile just as the annual overflow 
begins to subside. She works the wet 
clay that contains the eggs into a ball, 
which she cleverly rolls away from the 
river into the adjacent sand of the desert. 
Here she buries herself and the object of 
her solicitude to the depth of several feet. 
She has accomplished her destiny and dies 
in her sandy tomb. Once greatness was 
thrust on this little creature, when as the 
emblem of eternal life it was as a hiero- 
glyph engraved on gems, and its likeness 
worn alike by the living and the dead. 

The cool wind of evening has risen, and 
the sun is already in the west when we 
continue our journey. Our camels, with 
slender, outstretched necks, make gro- 
tesque shadows on the ground, as they 
move with slow, fastidious steps through 
the shifting sand. 

31 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

The villages we pass are invariably built 
on higher ground than the cultivated land, 
in order that they may be above the level 
of the Nile in flood. The brown mud 
houses, slender minarets, and groves of 
palms give a very charming effect in the 
distance; but on entering them their filth 
and squalor are appalling. 

This region is full of historic interest, 
for Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt 
is not far off ; and close to the native village 
of Sakhara lies the great kingdom of the 
dead. The desert sand for miles is honey- 
combed with tombs and subterranean 
temples; for this vast plain was once the 
cemetery of the Pharaohs. 

Although for several thousand years 
archaeologist and robber alike have rifled 
these splendid sepulchres, the buried treas- 
uries are inexhaustible, and there must 
still remain many sleeping their last sleep, 
swathed in their fine 1 nen bandages, and 

32 



On to SaKKara 

surrounded by bas-reliefs representing all 
they loved in life. 

The excavators are patiently digging 
these endless sands, striving to wrest from 
them the secrets of the past. New treas- 
ures are unearthed, history is unmasked, 
more marvels come to light, revealing the 
life of ancient Egypt, a human document 
of absorbing interest. 

We find our camp at dusk being pitched 
on the edge of the cultivated land, and 
watch our tents put up with sinking hearts, 
trying not to admit to ourselves that we 
are too near the barking dogs and ophthal- 
mic children of Sakhara. 

The natives look at us with grave, incuri- 
ous eyes. Some are weaving as they walk, 
and their shuttles are the same as those 
used by the weavers of old when the 
Pharaohs held sway over Egypt. Young 
girls pass by with stately gait, poising 
earthen water jars on their heads with a 
strange grace and dignity. Women with 

33 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

trailing black robes, holding a corner of 
their veils across their mouths, carry chil- 




Photo., P. Dittrich 

Carding wool 

dren whose faces swarm with flies. Blind 
men grope their way along the path. In 

34 



On to SaKKara 

this land, where so many are sightless, the 
blind accept their fate with the marvellous 
patience of the East. 

Though we regret not camping on the 
clean desert sand, we are almost consoled 
by the carpet of small mauve irises, grow- 
ing on the irrigated ground which the 
Nile washes completely over for two or 
three months every summer. 

Behind us stretches a chain of hills, 
crowned by pyramids that at night look 
like faint ethereal ghosts, flooded by the 
white radiance of the moon. 

The desert lies bathed in a silvery mist, 
from which rise dim distances and phan- 
tom shapes, whose mystery makes us feel 
we have crossed the Styx and are wander- 
ing in an unreal world. 

It is a ''night of the Prophet," as the 
Arab saying goes, and our Bedouins sit in 
their white, flowing robes, still as the 
statues of old, save for the slight movement 
of their fingers on the reed pipes, as the 

35 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

thin sweet notes fill the air with a melody 
whose elusiveness creates a subtle charm. 
A voice breaks into song. The song 
holds a delicate enchantment, whose end- 
less monotony seems to tell of great spaces, 
of endless longing, and to draw our souls 
into unseen w^orlds. Then other voices 
join with the refrain, '' Ya Muhommed, ya 
habeeby/' and we know the song is ad- 
dressed to the Arabian prophet. 



36 



IV 



A CITY OF THE DEAD 

Sunday, February 26th. 

nn the east of us some crumbling earth- 
* works, many fragments of broken 
granite, and a few statues alone mark 
what was Memphis, once the largest and 
most magnificent city of Egypt. Other 
cities supplanted it as the home of the 
court, and its power and influence waned. 
It was despoiled of its treasures, and 
even its palaces and temples were torn 
down to adorn its younger rivals. The 
waters of the Nile broke through the 
un tended dykes and submerged it. But 

37 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

as late as the I2th century a.d. a trav- 
eller writes, 

The ruins of Memphis occupy a space one- 
half day's journey everyway, and they offer 
to the eyes of the spectator a collection of 
marvels which strike the mind with wonder, 
and which the most eloquent man might in 
vain attempt to describe. 

To the west, beyond the Libyan hills, 
lies another city, which has better resisted 
the encroachments of time — the City of 
the Dead. Due to the fact that *'the 
desert keeps what it covers," and to the 
greater stability of the buildings, we are 
here able to see on their painted and sculp- 
tured walls the daily life of long past 
centuries. For here were buried the kings, 
queens, and nobles, and even many of the 
animals belonging to the once great city 
of Memphis. As the Egyptians believed 
that the soul (the Ka or double) an the 
body of man were inseparable after death, 
and that the life of the soul depended upon 

38 



A City of the Dead 

the preservation of the body, the tombs 
were built, as was hoped, to last for eter- 
nity; while for the short life on earth less 
solid structures sufficed. 

In archaic days the body was embalmed 
and buried at the bottom of a deep shaft, 
which was then filled in, and above it was 
built a simple structure — a mastaha — in 
which the offerings were placed, principally 
food and drink, and where the dead man's 
friends met to feast, to pray, and to recite 
the formulas by whose magic the pictured 
scenes on the walls were turned into reali- 
ties for the sustenance of the body. Later 
on, these mastahas grew into houses of the 
dead, with many rooms, arranged doubtless 
after the manner of the houses of the 
living. A man's life must have been largely 
spent in preparing for death, or the after 
life. 

But to provide the body and the Ka 
with an enduring shelter was not enough. 
The Ka was obliged to go back and forth 

39 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

from the sunken burial chamber to the 
rooms above in search of food to nourish 
the body, also the amusements and occupa- 
tions which filled the living years must 
be provided. Statues resembling the dead 
man as closely as possible were placed in a 
concealed room, that, should he body meet 
with an accident, the Ka would still find a 
familiar abiding-place. Through the very 
heart of life ran the haunting fear of an- 
nihilation, to cease forever from out this 
golden land. 

The names, titles, attributes of the dead, 
are everywhere repeated with the wish for 
continued existence on earth rather than 
for self-glorification. And the living were 
ever ready to assist the dead, that in their 
turn perpetual life, so dependent upon 
the good offices of the living, might be 
accorded them. Again and again was 
carved on the stone: 

O ye princes, O ye prophets, O ye high priests 
40 



A City of the Dead 

celebrant, initiated into the mysteries, ye 
lay prophets, O ye officials, O ye dwellers in 
your cities, all who may be in this temple if 
you love life, and hate death, if you desire 
strength for your children, say with your 
mouth the formula for thousands of bread, 
wine, and cakes, oxen, geese, perfumes, gar- 
ments, and all things good and pure which are 
for the life of a God to the Ka of [whoever 
might be the inmate of the tomb]. 

These mastahas or houses, were the 
graves of the people and nobles from early 
times, while the pyramid was the tomb of 
the king. And from Gizeh to Medun they 
stretch, most imposing relics of past glory. 

The known world was ransacked for 
everything that was most beautiful for the 
building and adornment of these homes of 
the dead. The funerals, with the priests 
in their flowing robes ; the gold, the jewels, 
the chanting music, and the wailing mourn- 
ers ; the f eastings and offerings and prayers 
for the dead ; the great processions to praise 
and worship the deified kings, must have 

41 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

made a life of continual animation, at once 
impressive and magnificent. 

We break up camp early to visit Sakhara, 
this great necropolis of the dead. We go 
first to the tomb of Ti, companion and 
counsellor of the king, "pleasing to the 
heart of his Lord. " 

As we descend into the mysterious si- 
lence of the tomb, the Arab guardian lights 
candles whose feeble rays enable us to see 
dimly the marvellous drawings on the 
walls, in those rooms unlighted from above. 

As was the custom in those days, men 
of importance had many honorary titles, 
and Ti's exact station and calling is uncer- 
tain. It is evident that he possessed great 
power. His statue in the Cairo Museum 
shows him as a man of unusual intelligence 
and force. With head upheld he seems 
striding through the world, knowing how 
to take and use the best things in life. 

It is well named the "Happy tomb of 
42 



A City of tKe Dead 

Ti. " In the exquisite bas-reliefs which 
cover the seven rooms of his mastaha there 
is such restraint, sense of proportion ; above 
all such delicate modelling, such perfect 
rendering of every animal, bird, and reptile, 
that each one is at once an individual por- 
trait and a type. And the genius which 
thus grasped the race in the individual, 
achieved perhaps the most notable work 
of art before the days of Greece, and with 
a note of vivacious energy and pagan 
gaiety which men may well have had when 
the world was young. 

To-day, as five thousand years ago, 
appears the trotting donkey, the fluttering 
bird, and the swimming fish. 

The busy toilers of old Egypt are hard 
at work digging and tilling the Nile soil, 
gathering in the corn, slaving to satisfy 
the demands of their exacting masters. 

Here we see the making of beer and 
bread, the working in metal, the building 
of boats, the catching and salting of fish; 

43 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

the flax being cut, tied in sheaves, on the 
backs of donkeys, unloaded, trodden by 
oxen, and counted by scribes with their 
papyrus, ink palettes, and cases of reed 
pens; courts of justice being held with 
the fellaheen brought for judgment. An 
orderly procession of cattle, birds, ante- 
lope, game, march onward to be changed 
by the magical formulae into food for the 
Ka of Ti. 

We see Ti seated with his wife Nefer 
Hoteps beside him, watching the slow 
dancing of the East ; Ti at his table eating, 
with a menu, above his head, of the food, 
drink, clothes, and perfumes which are at 
his disposition. There are sacrificial bulls 
for Ti, incense for Ti, statues of Ti in their 
shrines, a whole world filled with a serene 
ardor and activity. Through all these cen- 
turies, with what buoyancy of life has each 
followed his appointed task in the ' ' Happy 
tomb of Ti." 

Notwithstanding the growing heat of the 
44 



A City of the Dead 

sun, we go to the Serapium, the burial- 
place of the sacred bulls. From the days 
of Ti to the building of the Serapium as 
long a time had elapsed as from the hewing 
of its mighty galleries to our own era. 

The worship of animals had always 
existed, and cemeteries for dogs, cats, birds, 
were all about us. With the lapse of 
years the religion of earlier times became 
more complicated and superstition greatly 
increased. Finally it was believed that 
the actual spirit of the great God Ptah- 
Sokar-Osiris was incarnated in a bull and 
at its death passed from one sacred bull, or 
Apis, to another. While alive, the bull was 
worshipped in a temple at Memphis. 
Strabo writes of the interest travellers 
found who saw Apis frisking about his 
palace, and the amusing solemnity with 
which these friskings were watched with 
the hope of discovering divine revelations. 
At his death Apis was buried in vaults at 
Sakhara and worshipped in the Serapium, 

45 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

a temple built above them. For hundreds 
of years this temple was buried in the sand 
and lost to the world until discovered by 
Mariette, the great Egyptologist. The 
cartouches show that the earliest interments 
were contemporaneous with the last kings 
of Israel. On one mighty sarcophagus is 
the cartouche of Cambyses, King of Persia, 
who conquered Egypt in the seventh cen- 
tury. In another, a mummy of a sacred 
bull remained intact, to be found by Mari- 
ette, who on entering the sealed chamber 
saw on its sandy floor the footprints of the 
last Egyptian to leave the tomb over two 
thousand years before. 

The farther we penetrate into these 
terrible vaults, the hotter grows the air, 
and in the tombs of the Apis the atmos- 
phere is like fire, while the immensity of 
these subterranean halls, the eternal night, 
the near presence of the mighty dead, fill 
us with an indescribable awe. We are 
glad to leave these dread nether regions of 

46 



A City of the Dead 

black shadows for the blue skies and sun- 
shine of the world of to-day. 

We journey on in a haze of heat which 
quivers in the air and glows with a passion- 
ate life. The great dunes stretch into the 
still solitudes, broken by hills and valleys 
of pale sand that are pencilled brown in 
places by the small stones lying thickly on 
the surface. In the golden distance we 
see a lake with islands and peninsulas 
jutting into the water. The gray shim- 
mer of its surface lies unruffled in the noon- 
day glare ; feathery palm trees are reflected 
in its still depths — dream mysteries of the 
desert, phantom forms born of the miracle 
of mirage. 

Against the sapphire blue of the sky 
appears a slender white line, at first mis- 
taken for a cloud, gradually changing into 
a flame of rose, as the sun catches the pink 
breasts and wings of a flock of flamingoes 
sailing westward. Like a silver thread 

47 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

they come, and like a streak of flame they 
vanish into the mysterious land that lies 
beyond the sunset, — a radiant vision of 
color sweeping into the great unknown. 

We pass the "Step Pyramid," the oldest 
in existence, and a great stone pyramid 
looms in front to the south, which appears 
never to grow nearer. In the clear, dry 
air it is difficult to judge of distance with 
accuracy, and it is useless to ask a native 
who never measures it by miles. The 
majority of the natives do not possess 
watches, measuring the road by the pace 
of their camels and donkeys or the position 
of the sun. 

By the "great stone pyramid" we hope 
to lunch, and shortly after one o'clock we 
reach it, a mass of copper gold against a 
deep blue sky. This pyramid is only forty 
feet less in diameter than its mighty rival 
at Gizeh, but it has a less imposing 
appearance, as it is not so high. 

While we lunch, the profound silence is 
48 



A City of tKe Dead 

broken by vague cries. Our caravan passes 
and one of the camel men is singing a 
haunting song of the nomad, that holds 
a strange melancholy, a yearning appeal, 
in its terrible monotony. As men and 
beasts vanish from view in the recesses of 
the sand-dunes, the voice still floats in the 
air, the sacred name of Allah grows fainter 
and fainter in the distance. Then follows 
once more the silence of the desert — force- 
ful, eternal. 

When lunch is over and after a rest to 
enable the caravan to reach its destination 
before us, we again resume our journey, 
past the ''blunted pyramid'* and the 
"ruined pyramid of Dashoor," which ap- 
peared to us like a heap of stones rising 
from a forest of trees. These trees van- 
ished like smoke as we approached ; another 
mirage has deceived us. 

It is only a close inspection that reveals 
the wealth of flowers that grow in the 
4 49 



In tKe Libyan. Desert 

desert far from any visible water. The 
tiny crucifer with its purple head and 
radiating foliage, the little yellow pea- 
flower and the blue salvia pluckily take 
root in the sand, while mesambrianthe- 
mums make a brave show with their large, 
mauve, waxy leaves, and the rest-harrow 
becomes a shrub of golden bloom when not 
eaten down by the gazelle or passing camel. 
There is also a flower resembling a forget- 
me-not, with blossoms of deep blue or 
brilliant pink, and the Jerusalem sage is 
frequently to be met with in the rills of 
yellow sand that intersect the desert, how- 
ever stony. 

Turning to the left down a valley 
through a chain of hills we once more come 
on cultivation. Large sycamores of the 
south, groups of acacias and prickly pears, 
the blue green of the latter making a charm- 
ing contrast with the white marabout 
tombs and brown mud walls of the village 
of Dashoor. 

50 



A City of the Dead 

The cupolas of these tombs are a pictur- 
esque feature of the East shining Hke white 
gems in the surrounding greenery. The 
marabout is the mystic of Islam, and these 
holy men, judging from the multitude of 
their tombs, must have flourished and mul- 
tiplied exceedingly. Once upon a time 
the term marabout was only applied to a 
great religious leader of learning and piety, 
but now many a wandering idiot is called 
a marabout, for the Arabs believe him to be 
a special favorite of Allah, who has with- 
drawn his mind to heaven, leaving his 
body to fulfil its appointed time on earth. 

Far away is the Nile with its copper- 
colored waters gleaming violet and amber 
in the hot sunshine ; its banks fringed with 
palm groves or strips of carefully tended 
vegetation. We are charmed with our 
camping ground. Soon the hush of even- 
ing descends; a great silence broods over 
everything; the desert, the village, the 
white tombs turn rose colored in the pink 

53 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

flaming glory of the sunset. After dinner 
we wander into the desert. The wind 
with an almost stinging freshness, comes 
to us from the ends of the earth across the 
seas of sand. Wrapped against the pene- 
trating cold, we lie gazing into the blue 
purple of the night. The stars seem to 
hang like lamps at varying distances, the 
planets appear like small suns emitting 
rays of light ; very different from the twin- 
kling stars and flat effect of our dark, 
northern skies. 

Beneath us lies the camp where our 
tents stand like gray sentinels in the blue 
gloom of the night, alluring us with their 
promise of rest and shelter. The fire gives 
forth a cheerful glow, the flame leaps to a 
sudden blaze as the men heap on fresh 
fuel. It lights up their dark faces and 
sends flashes of warm color over their white 
robes. On the desert breeze is borne the 
sound of music — low, throbbing tones of 
drowsy melody. Now and again a wail 

54 



A City of the Dead 

of sadness dies away in waves of whispered 
longing for that which ever lies beyond. 
Said, the desert Pan, is playing his reed 
pipe, the wild, barbaric notes voice the 
soul of a primitive people. 

Gently the peace of the great desert 
steals over us; the strange beauty of the 
night, the soft, mysterious silence fills one 
with an emotion at once joyous and awe- 
inspiring. All cares are forgotten: all 
troubles vanish under the light of the 
shining stars. 

"And the night shall be filled with music 
And the cares that infest the day 
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away." 



55 




V 



A DAY AT DASHOOR 



Monday, February 27th. 

PERFECT as are the nights, with a 
* still perfection that enchains and 
tranquillizes the soul, the mornings are 
radiant with the glory of the coming day. 
As the dawn faintly flushes the eastern 
sky, the stillness seems to vibrate with life. 
There is a sense of expectation in all things, 
a joyous feeling of hope quivering through 
the air. The stars pale as the sun rises 
and bathes the new world in a silver light. 
Our tents facing the Sun-god are flooded 

56 



A. Day at DasKoor 

with fresh, warm Hfe. From afar the 
voices of the muezzin sends forth his four- 
fold cry to the north, south, east, and 
west. The Arabs prostrate themselves 
in prayer. With their faces turned to 
Mecca, they praise ''Allah the most merci- 
ful, the ever compassionate, " bowing their 
heads to the ground in reverence to the 
"Giver of all." 

We spend a quiet day watching the 
natives pass by, greeting one another with 
the Arab formula, ''May your day be 
happy," to which the others reply, "May 
your day be happy and blessed." When 
friend meets friend they shake hands, each 
placing his hand lightly on his heart, lips, 
and forehead in token of friendship and 
respect. This is said to mean, "The feel- 
ings of my heart, the words of my lips, 
the thoughts of my mind are for you." 
The voices of these people are loud. When 
several are together, it sounds to unaccus- 
tomed ears as if they were engaged in vio- 

57 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

lent dispute, when they are probably only 
having a peaceful gossip. We are often 
startled by a storm of voices arguing, 
shouting, disputing. We hold our breath 
waiting for the blows and the shots which 
never come. This suggests the story of 
the European who took something to a 
native shop to be mended. Whereupon 
arose an argument between the proprietor 
and his apprentice which waxed so loud 
and furious that in dismay the stranger 
asked a passerby the cause of the trouble. 
The man listened a moment and said, 
" There is no trouble, they say, ' May be '." 
Though their tones are strident, their tread 
is noiseless, no doubt from the custom 
of walking barefoot, or in flat Arab 
slippers. 

The Arab of the desert moves with 
stately gait. With head erect he strides 
along as if he possessed the earth and all 
things in it. The women also walk with 
free, untrammelled grace, and in their eyes 

58 



A Day at DasKoor 

is the look of those who Hve in open spaces. 
They bow their heads alone to Kismet, 
meeting death undaunted; for when it 
comes they recognize the will of Allah, and 
old and young accept what Fate brings, 
knowing no regret and no fear. The look 
of quiet contentment on their faces is good 
to see. And how little it takes to satisfy 
their simple needs! A pipe, a cup of 
coffee, a little shade, a handful of dates, 
some bread and sugar, and water to quench 
their thirst. For the sunshine robs pov- 
erty of half its sting, and none may starve 
in this land, where the Koran commands 
that no man shall refuse bread and salt to 
his neighbor. In their wise philosophy 
vexatious memories are put aside. If con- 
versation flows into troublesome channels, 
it is abruptly changed. The warm sun- 
shine, the great silence of the desert, is 
made for peace; the stress and strain of 
Western life are unknown to a people who, 
joined to a great love of nature, possess 

59 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

an exquisite sensibility and power of con- 
centration, and find their happiness in 
dreamy tranquillity and contemplation. 

The scene before us is almost startlingly 
brilliant. The palm trees stretch their 
heads toward the Sun-god drinking in the 
light and the heat, blue and mauve shad- 
ows flicker on their straight brown trunks. 
The white marabout's tomb shines with 
opal and pink reflections in the transparent 
light. The air is laden with curious pene- 
trating perfumes. Everything seems pul- 
sating with heat and color. Is it the spell 
of the East or the magic of color which 
makes the very air seem alive with a sug- 
gestion of ecstasy and tragedy, the passion 
and the pain of life? A land in which 
at any moment anything might happen. 
Under the dull skies of the north the day 
shall be long ere 

"We have forgotten all things meet 
We have forgotten the look of light 
We have forgotten the smell of heat. " 
60 



-A. Day at DasKoor 

This day Ibraheen Bey, head sheikh of 
Dashoor, sends to know if he may pay us 
his respects, and we in vain await him all 
the afternoon. 

The sheikh, or omdeh, is the mayor and 
patriarch of a village, a landed proprietor 
on a small scale. Before the English occu- 
pation these sheikhs were minions of the 
pashas and usually tyrants on their own 
behalf, enforcing the will of those above 
them and their own exactions on the help- 
less people. 

It is hard now to believe that a few 
years ago the courbash, the corvee, and 
slavery flourished. Injustice walked un- 
checked through the land. Insecurity of 
life and property, poverty, and indescrib- 
able suffering were the common lot. The 
country had been squeezed like an orange. 
Even the canals on which its very life 
depended, had been allowed to drop into 
an almost irreparable state of disrepair. 
With enemies within and without, Eng- 

6i 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

land started upon what must often have 
seemed a hopeless attempt at reconstruc- 
tion. To those who know the story of the 
struggle, and who see the achievement, 
there are few chapters in history which 
will awaken greater enthusiasm and admir- 
ation. There is much talk now of " Egypt- 
ianizing" other moribund countries. Two 
things, however, are necessary: the ad- 
ministrative qualities of the English, and 
the inherent vitality of the Egyptians. 

The west glows with deep red, above 
which is a sky of tender, delicate green, 
shot with the rays of the setting sun. 
This is the magic hour of our nomad life, 
the hour of dreams, of happy silence, while 
the stars appear in the deep sky; and the 
low, drowsy murmur of a tale from the 
Arabian Nights reaches us from where our 
Bedouins sit in a circle round the fire. 



62 




VI 



A VISIT TO A HAREM 



Tuesday, February 28th. 

A T ten o'clock, when least expected, 
^^ Ibraheen Bey arrives accompanied 
by his two sons and several brothers and 
nephews, while a few minor sheikhs add 
lustre to his train. 

Some of the younger sheikhs are dandies 
in their brilliantly-colored silk kaftans, 
embroidered sashes, graceful cloaks, and 
spotless turbans. 

Our visitors are of the Egyptian race. 
In some of the faces one recognizes the 

63 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

long eyes, straight brow and nose, and 
somewhat prominent chin of the Pharaohs ; 
and their long slender hands and feet 
appear like a reproduction of a bas-relief 
from an old temple. 

We hold our durbar in the luncheon 
tent, with our guests seated in a semicircle 
round us. The visit lasts an hour, enliv- 
ened by coffee, cigarettes, and a book in 
which there are some hunting pictures, 
creating great surprise and enthusiasm. In 
the course of conversation, carried on in 
very disjointed Arabic on our side, and 
with the aid of an interpreter, the Bey 
intimates that he is the owner of large 
flocks of sheep and goats, and that his 
family is of old and distinguished lineage. 
Not to be outdone we reply that we are 
the proud possessors of so many cows that 
we cannot count them, and we stumblingly 
strive to speak in the language of the East 
to this patriarch of the Old Testament. 

Late in the afternoon we mount our don- 
64 



A "Visit to a Harem 

keys. Accompanied by Fadlallah and our 
donkey boys, we ride through the village 
to return the visit with royal promptitude. 
On our way we pass a funeral procession. 
The body, carried on a wooden stretcher, 
is wrapped in a silken shroud sprinkled 
with holy water from the sacred well of 
Zeni Teni in Mecca. There is a long line 
of mourners, and the bearers of the bier 
chant an Arab hymn, telling of the delights 
that await the true believer in Paradise. 
The dead man must have been of some 
importance, and lavish in his alms, judging 
from the number of beggars. The crowd 
is swelled by the villagers who have joined 
it, hoping for the bounty invariably dis- 
tributed by the relatives at the side of the 
grave. 

We dismount at a large house built of 
the inevitable mud, with a coat of white- 
wash to mark its superiority over its 
neighbors. Like most native dwellings it 
presents a blank face to the street, its 

65 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

privacy being further enhanced by high 
walls. The impress of a hand is on the 
door, the sacred hand of Fatima, daughter 
of the Prophet, bringing peace to the 
dwellers within. The courtyard is very 
picturesque, with a well in the centre, 
beside which stand two palm trees making 
a grateful shade. 

The room we are received in is of fine 
proportions, with a European carpet of 
hideous design, while glass lamps of even 
more unsightly pattern stand about. The 
walls are crumbling in places from the 
ravages of the high Nile. 

After we have partaken of the usual 
coffee and cigarettes, curiosity gets the 
better of our manners, and though we 
know it is against all tradition to ask an 
Oriental after his female relations, we men- 
tion to Ibraheen Bey that it would give us 
great pleasure to be permitted to call on 
his wife. However, he replies that she is 
away from home. 

66 



-A. Visit to a Harem 

The house is conducted on the patri- 
archal system, two of our host's brothers 
with their famihes Hving in different parts 
of the building. One wife had been ill, 
and Ibraheen Bey, on hearing that one of 
our party has had some hospital training, 
asked if she would pay the invalid a visit, 
since doctors are not allowed near their 
womenkind. We, of course, are glad to 
be of any possible use, and having sent 
for the "healing physician," we cross the 
courtyard and enter a dark and dismal 
room from which both sun and men are 
rigorously excluded. The windows of the 
harem are all of lattice work, through 
which air passes, but very little light. 

The gloom and depression of these rooms 
to one unaccustomed to being shut out 
from the sunlight and the living world 
by a wooden screen, is indescribable. The 
sufferer had the listless air and dragging 
footsteps almost always seen in those whose 
lives are spent in this imprisonment. She 

67 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

was fat for so young a woman, and had a 
sweet, pathetic expression. The room was 
unfurnished except for some rugs, a few 
divans, and some cushions on the floor, 
but in spite of all the disorder and untidi- 
ness of the East, everything was spotlessly 
clean. On a cushion in a corner crouched 
an old crone with bright peering eyes and 
a crafty look. It was hard to say whether 
the younger woman was afraid of her, or 
simply overcome by our presence, but her 
whole being seemed to speak of fear and 
depression. The monotony of these lives 
behind the yashmak^ and the shutter 
appears to us almost like a living death. 
The more fortunate are those too stupid 
or too little educated to appreciate their 
condition. It is said that the cruelty and 
the crimes committed in the seclusion of 
these harems if brought to light would 
startle the Western world. 

On the invitation of the invalid, we 

^Veil. 

68 



-A. Visit to a Harem 

ascended the stairs to the top of the house, 
passing through a door leading on to a flat 
roof. Here rugs and cushions were spread 
on which rested some pretty young women, 
chatting and laughing, who at once rose 
to welcome us with friendly smiles. Two 
small children were playing a game of 
marbles, and a beautiful Persian cat lay 
in the arms of one of the women. These 
native ladies were below the average 
height of Europeans ; they had large brown 
eyes, delicate features, and were very 
attractive in appearance, with perfectly- 
modelled hands and feet, while heavy, 
silver anklets drew attention to their slen- 
der ankles. They smilingly insisted on our 
breaking bread with them, and we ate a 
belated tea of biscuits, dates, and shelled 
walnuts served in china saucers on a brass 
tray. 

From here we could see the roofs of other 
and poorer dwellings; the life of the roof 
in the homes of the poor. On the next 

69 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

house, divided from us by a narrow street, 
the women were cooking, and on countless 
other houses were busy figures. During 
the hot summer months these roofs are 
partitioned off, the men sleeping on one 
side, the women on the other, to enjoy the 
comparative coolness of the desert breeze 
that is born at sunset, to die again with the 
coming of the day. Beyond the houses, 
through the green wealth of palms and 
cactus we get glimpses of the desert, now 
bathed in the flaming glory of the sunset. 
The brilliant shafts of light are like beckon- 
ing fingers luring us to a magic world of 
unknown splendor. The desert calls us. 
We bid farewell to the charming little 
ladies of the harem and, followed to the 
outskirts of the village by Ibraheen Bey, 
his brothers, nephews, and sons, as well as 
by the gaze of the entire population who 
have apparently all rushed into the streets 
to have a glimpse of us, we return to our 
tents set in the golden sands, where the 

70 



-A. Visit to a Harem 

golden sunset wraps all things in its revivi- 
fying life, in this ''land of gold and song 
and prayer. " 

Nothing could exceed the hospitality of 
these people toward us, and Ibraheen Bey, 
though fat and ungainly, is not without the 
dignity of the Eastern potentate. While 
we remained on his property he sent two 
of his men to guard us. We found through 
the whole of our expedition that the sheikh 
of the village on whose land we camped, 
considered us his guests, sending his own 
watchman, as is the custom, to be respon- 
sible for our safety, and to whom we are 
expected to give backsheesh for the service. 

This night we close our eyes early, fore- 
going our meanderings by starlight, for we 
know that to-morrow we start on a two- 
days' trip across the waterless desert. 
Nearly fifty miles stretch between us and 
Birket el Kurum, the northern point of the 
Fayoum for which we are making. 



71 




VII 



SHIFTING SANDS 



Ash Wednesday, March 1st. 

/^^UR baggage camels are groaning 
^^ under more than their usual load, 
as four of their number have been set 
apart to carry water. The water, in big 
clay jars of graceful design, which have 
not been altered in shape for many centu- 
ries, is carried in nets on the camels' backs. 
Instead of corks, the necks of the jars are 
stopped with green leaves, and though ex- 
posed to the rays of the African sun, the 

72 



SKifting Sands 

water is always cold, thanks to the porous 
quality of the clay. 

These earthen jars are made in the vil- 
lages of Upper Egypt and sent floating 
down the Nile on fiat -bottomed cargo 
boats to their various destinations. Sev- 
eral hundred jars are bound together with 
palm tree bands. They are carefully 
covered with green leaves and a second 
stratum of pots is placed above them. 
On the top are perched native boatmen, 
who skilfully guide them down the stream. 

These boats carry most of the produce 
of the land, as well as people, cattle, chick- 
ens, donkeys, and camels. It is amusing 
to see the latter when they are obliged to 
land in shallow water. The manner in 
which they put their long legs over the side 
of the boat, carrying high their protesting 
heads, is an object lesson in reluctance 
and offended dignity. It is a wonderful 
sight to see the boats with their high 
prows and lofty lateen sails swooping down 

73 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

wing and wing, with the tide and the wind 
behind them, like a flock of ravenous 
birds, or, at sunset, Hke will-o'-the-wisps 
skimming over the shimmering opal water 
with their graceful pointed wings outlined 
against the brilliant sky; and at night in 
the half light of the stars stealing like white 
ghosts near the banks where the dark 
palm trees rear their plumed and graceful 
heads. 

^very drop of water required for House- 
hold purposes is brought by the women 
from the river or canals in goollahs or 
earthern jars, in shape very like the Etrus- 
can vases. From time immemorial women 
have trooped down to the water's edge 
with the goollahs on their heads, a long line 
of graceful figures in flowing, black gar- 
ments. Arrived at the river's bank, each 
woman tucks up her skirts and wades into 
the stream to fill her jar. These goollahs, 
when full of water, weigh about forty 
pounds, and with this load on their heads 

74 



SHifting Sands 

the women climb the steep bank and walk 
erect to the village often a mile or two 
away. As they file back at sunset, their 
black figures silhouetted against the sky, 
their clinging draperies and veils fluttering 
in the wind, and with their inimitable 
grace and dignity of attitude, they look 
like a procession of Tanagra figurines on 
their way to perform some sacred rite. 

We wish to travel twenty-five miles 
before night falls, as not only is the water 
very precious, but our poor camels will 
not see either food or drink till we reach 
the Fayoum. 

All the morning we journey through a 
plain of endless sand, in which lie heaps of 
great rocks and stones giving the illusion 
of gigantic temples ruthlessly destroyed by 
some long-past convulsion of nature. Deep 
gullies break the monotony of the measure- 
less plain, and as the hours pass, low hills 
appear on the horizon. 

75 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

At noon, on emerging from a valley, we 
meet a Bedouin tribe. Fine-looking men 
in tattered cloaks, armed with guns and 
long knives, lead the way on foot. Then 
come camels carrying the old men, women, 
and children, and again more camels laden 
with various goods and chattels. Young 
camels skip merrily about as they follow 
their mothers, while a flock of sheep and 
goats bring up the rear. The younger 
men and several women are walking. The 
latter are veiled, but we can see their 
eyebrows, blackened with kohl to meet 
across their foreheads ; and the hands that 
hold their draperies are stained red with 
henna. An old Arab, with gray beard and 
hawklike face, rides forward to exchange 
greetings with Fadlallah. They touch 
their breasts, lips, and foreheads, speak a 
few words, again salute in Arab fashion, 
and then the Bedouins steal silently away 
and are lost to view in the lonely desert. 
And always our desert Pan is singing as he 

76 



SHifting Sands 

runs with bare feet by the pony's head. 

The air is exquisitely clear and pure. It 
is good to be alive. 

Our lengthening shadows, deep blue on 
the tawny sand, tell of the passing of the 
hours. The sun's slanting rays transform 
the wilderness into a world of entrancing 
beauty. Stretches of sand turn to golden 
seas, rolling away in waves of orange, of 
red, of pink, till in the quivering air this 
riot of color melts into the blue blur of 
the far distance. 

A faint, wide track crosses ours, barely 
discernible in places. It is a caravan 
road made by the prints of the camels' 
feet, and by hundreds of thousands of 
naked human feet, as they tramp their 
long journey from Eastern lands to far 
oases in the great Sahara. 

In the track of this desert road a skeleton 
is gleaming white, with ghostly ribs pro- 
truding through the sand. Some wretched 
camel has died on the march. When one 

77 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

of these poor beasts sinks to the ground, 
the Arabs seize her load and divide it among 
the remaining camels, while she is left 
behind to die. Her reproachful eyes fol- 
low the receding caravan; once more she 
tries to rise, but her strength fails and she 
falls back to gasp out her life in the lonely 
desert. Often ere the breath has left her 
body, she is the prey of the jackals, the 
hyenas, and the vultures. In a few short 
hours nought remains save the whitening 
bones. 

As we ride on through the endless wastes 
and eternal silence of the desert, we realize 
its mystery ; its endless and infinite variety. 
Here we are passing through sands that 
look as if the ocean had just receded from 
them. Now we are approaching a chain 
of red hills on whose slopes rest giant and 
grotesque forms. Huge tortoises appear 
to be crawling to the summits, and strange 
shapes, suggestive of pre-historic days are 
scattered near. Again we pass on to what 

78 



SKifting Sands 

look like pagodas against the sky, twisted 
by the action of nature during many thou- 
sands of years. Long lines of driftsand, 
heaped up by the wind, have made hills 
where once were hollow^s. In the desert 
one drinks of the waters of Lethe. It is 
on too large a scale, too vital, too intensely 
alive, not to blot out lesser things. There 
are no Marconis or telephones, no business 
or parties. All that is supposed to relieve 
the monotony of life is lacking. None of 
it is here, and yet there is everything. 
The desert, changeless and eternal, is ever 
changing. In these limitless solitudes we 
pitch our camp. 



79 




VIII 



LOST IN A SANDSTORM 



Thursday, March 2d. 

A N unearthly din at six a.m. reveals a 
^'^ dramatic incident in the life of 
Toulba the Terrible. For some slight 
fault his father had slapped him on the 
hand, whereupon the child of the nomad 
flung off his galahieh, threw his purse of 
precious piastres on the ground and ran in 
a frenzy into the desert to reappear later in 
a somewhat chastened mood, when no more 
notice was taken of him or his temper. 

80 



Lost in a Sandstorm 

We make our start under a cloudless 
sky while about us are sweeps of golden 
sand, rising like ocean waves, eternal, 
unending, reaching away to far horizons. 
Immense rocks and stones of violet hue 
are scattered in this golden sea. To the 
west rises a chain of rose-colored moun- 
tains, whose peaks are stained crimson and 
orange in the hot sunshine. Though no 
life is visible in this naked immensity, the 
impression it gives is of a warm splendor 
and intense vitality. And we pursue our 
way ever through more profound solitudes, 
along valleys of burning sand, past ridges 
of strange, contorted shapes, over plains 
of vast, undreamt-of isolation. 

The desert becomes flatter, the sun beats 
upon our heads, the sands glare under our 
feet with a white light. The heat rises 
from the burning plain and quivers as 
though steam were rising from it; little 
spirals of heat waves ascend in the hot 
still air. The charm of the morning has 
6 8i 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

vanished; the desert is showing us that 
under the beauty and mystery lies a feHne 
ruthlessness. Nature has asserted herself ; 
in her grasp we are no more than withered 
leaves. Even the mountains seem no 
longer able to resist ; their color and outline 
fade to a blue line as they sweep away 
into the heart of Africa. 

At mid-day, after five hours of continued 
march, we feel very weary. To our dis- 
may, the lunch tent is not on the drome- 
dary but has been left behind with the 
caravan, and we eat our meal in the pitiless 
rays of a scorching sun in the fiat, open 
desert. To add to our woes, the wind 
rises, blowing alternately hot and cold, 
followed by a sudden gust and whirlwind 
of sand. Fadlallah insists on our leaving 
our lunch and starting immediately. He 
seems in great anxiety. We do not lose a 
moment before continuing our march, but 
we have not gone far when we find our- 
selves in the centre of a sandstorm. Every- 

82 



Lost in a Sandstorm 

thing is obliterated a few yards away. 
The Arabs cover their heads with their 
cloaks, or unwind their turbans to shield 
their faces. We take refuge behind our 
handkerchiefs, but can scarcely breathe for 
the whipping, stinging sand. Fadlallah 
alone, with his eyes uncovered, leads the 
way on the dromedary. His is a hard task 
in that blinding storm, as to lose his way 
might mean death to the little party. 
Hour after hour we blindly plod on guided 
by the thud, thud, of the dromedary's 
feet. 

We are in chaos, half breathless, blind, 
shut out from the world we know, forced 
into an unknown world which holds no 
future and knows no past. A few false 
steps and the desert and the storm would 
seize and annihilate us in its relentless 
grasp. There is no room for fear, only a 
feeling of exhilaration such as might be 
felt in a great storm at sea, when the forces 
of nature wage war on each other, and 

83 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

the unshackled strength of the unseen 
powers stand revealed. 

In the heart of the storm we seemed to 
hear the rush of the Valkyrie, the charge of 
contending armies, ships foundering at sea. 
All victories, all defeats, the din and the 
carnage, the joy and the fear, life at its 
uttermost. 

Toulba and his small slave have both 
been astride the same donkey. 

Glancing round we see that Toulba is 
riding alone. The small slave has van- 
ished, also Toulba 's tarbouche which has 
been whirled off his head. Regardless of 
consequences, he had ordered his slave to 
run after it. An impossible task, and the 
little figure is already swallowed up in the 
sandstorm. We have to shout to Fadlallah 
to make a halt, and by good luck the child 
is rescued. Though we make allowance for 
the five short years of Toulba 's existence, 
we view with horror this youthful Oriental's 
indifference to his small slave's life. 

84 



Lost in a Sandstorm 

After what seems endless hours, the 
storm abates somewhat and we are able 
to look about. Instead of the intermin- 
able desert our eyes are gladdened by the 
sight of the oasis, whose trees are distin- 
guishable through the pall of fine sand 
that still hangs in the air. 

Those green tufts rising on the horizon 
above the sea of sand are to us what the 
sight of land is to the shipwrecked mariner. 
Our animals are in a deplorable condition, 
but they sniff the air and start again with 
renewed courage. We have still a large 
piece of desert to traverse, but its aspect 
is changing. We can see the tracks of 
men and camels. 

The state of our men reveal what the 
stress and strain of the storm has been. 
Their swollen, reddened eyelids, their 
cracked lips, their haggard faces, in the 
lines of which the sand still lies, show the 
desperate fight that has been waged against 
nature. 

85 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

Though we have come safely through 
the storm, we feel great anxiety about our 
caravan. 

As we sit huddled in the sand-cart, 
hungry, thirsty, with mouths parched, our 
hair and eyes full of sand, we try in vain to 
emulate the attitude of the children of the 
desert, who have tasted nothing since the 
morning start, have run all day through 
scorching sun and terrible storm, and now 
squat on the ground in the ancient posture 
that has descended to them through count- 
less centuries, resigned to Kismet, content 
with whatever Fate may have in store for 
them. Hour follows hour with leaden 
feet. The sun showing dimly through the 
thick atmosphere sinks from the stormy 
sky. As darkness descends, no stars ap- 
pear to lighten our vigil. We are roused 
at last by the guttural voices of our Arabs. 
Indistinctly we see dark forms looming in 
the night, and rejoice to recognize our 
caravan. Yet a little more patience, and 

86 



Lost in a Sandstorm 

we gladly rest in our tents on the edge of 
the desert, with the great oasis and the 
sacred lake of Kurun stretched beneath 
us. 



87 




y^^&xm^^.- J, - . 






•x^... 






IX 

BY LAKE KURUN 

Friday, March 3d. 

A ][ /"E wake next morning to a glorious 
* ' day. All traces of the storm are 
gone. The desert lies ridge upon ridge of 
yellow sand, warm in the golden sunlight. 
The giant, petrified remains of a primeval 
forest rest on its great dunes, while in the 
distance the varied tints of ripening barley, 
gray olive woods, and the green of the 
dourah fields tell us that we have reached 

88 



By LaKe K.\ir\an 

our goal and are in sight of the most beauti- 
ful oasis in the Libyan Desert. 

The lake beneath us covers many miles. 
Formerly it was even larger than it is 
to-day. The northern shores, which are 
now deserted sand dunes, once bore rich 
crops, and were the home of a thriving 
population. A small but nearly perfect 
temple still remains to tell of the glory of 
bygone days. 

The Pharaohs looked on this region as 
their happy hunting-ground. When weary 
of life in their great cities, they came here 
to seek rest and indulge themselves in the 
sports they loved. 

Now the lake is edged with tamarisk 
trees, and for nearly a mile through its 
shallow waters that lap the desert, appear 
the feathery green and pink blossoms of 
this beautiful bush. Wild fowl of all sorts 
abound and the natives make a living by 
fishing in its waters. 

And always the mighty desert stretches 

89 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

away in undulating hills of sand and 
valleys of blue shadow, until like an up- 
turned cup it meets the sky. 

The day is calm, the fierce sun pours 
down from a sky of blazing blue, the air is 
breathless. We have walked a short dis- 
tance, and are not far from our camp, but 
it is hidden in this vast ocean of swelling 
summits and sinking hollows. The lake 
and the oasis are also invisible. Rounding 
a sand dune appear two Bedouins leading 
their heavily-laden camels. We watch 
them as they cover the ground with long, 
swinging strides, each movement giving 
the impression of strength and elastic 
grace. They courteously greet us with 
the Arab salutation, ** Peace be with you, " 
as they pass. With their dark, impassive 
faces, these men in their dusty, floating 
robes speak to the imagination of lonely, 
desert marches, of night vigils under the 
shining stars, of the life that ever wanders 
far from the haunts of men in the silent 

90 



By LaKe K.\ir\in 

places of the earth ; and about them is the 
aloofness that one ever meets with in these 
Eastern people, the aloofness of the Mos- 
lem to those of an alien creed. Under the 
garb of their innate reserve and politeness 
lies the undying contempt for the un- 
believer. 

The shrill, melancholy note of the sacred 
hawk startles the silence. Over the desert 
comes a weird light, the golden world 
grows dim, sadness drifts across the dark- 
ening plains. Again we hear in the dis- 
tance the low, booming voice of the storm. 
A puff of hot air rises, dances along the 
sand, and whirls into nothingness. Another 
and yet another follows; the sand cease- 
lessly dances and quivers till the desert is 
all alive and moving. The sun is wrapped 
in a tawny saffron robe, opaque, sinister. 
From the south comes a sound of mighty 
wind; soon even near-by objects are 
blotted out; the sandstorm has returned, 
forcing us back to the refuge of our tents. 

91 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

The fine sand penetrates everywhere, cov- 
ering each object with thick impalpable 
dust. 

Our lunch reaches us well flavored with 
sand, notwithstanding all possible precau- 
tions, and our waiters' eyes are blinded as 
they struggle from the kitchen tent. The 
flap of our dining tent is barely raised for 
them to creep in with the food, but a whir] 
of sand invades us. We can but smile in 
sympathy with the smiling faces of these 
natives who patiently serve us, making 
naught of the added work. When we 
remark upon the odious weather, Reshid 
replies, "Allah sends the storm, oh, lady; 
it is written in the book, Inshallah, he will 
send a soft wind to-morrow. " 

We had promised our Bedouins a couple 
of sheep on arriving at the Fayoum, and at 
break of day several of the camel drivers 
had ridden to the nearest village in the 
oasis to buy them, to obtain fodder for the 
camels and donkeys, and to fetch water 

92 



By LaKe R-urvin 

for the camp, as the water in the lake is 
brackish. 

Late in the afternoon we open our tents 
as the storm is subsiding, and see our 
camels returning laden with water and 
bursum. Jemha, the Nubian camel driver, 
is on foot leading a sheep that bleats 
piteously at its strange surroundings. 

The camel men are paid six shillings a 
day, and find themselves and their beasts 
in food. As they are very poor they have 
preferred to buy one sheep and spend the 
remainder on fodder for their beasts, so it 
was said. We never knew whether that 
extra food ever reached these animals. 

The Httle sheep is hobbled and left to 
its own devices. He cleverly makes his 
way to the load of bursum just taken 
from the camels' backs. He nibbles away 
till driven off by the Arabs, when he 
bleats sadly for a few minutes and then 
returns to the feast. He keeps this up 
until the hour of sacrifice draws near, 

93 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

when he is led away. The bleatings 
cease, and all is silent. 

At sunset the wind falls, the twilight 
creeps onward ; the round, orange sun drops 
over the edge of the world ; the sky turns a 
vivid, translucent copper with one broad 
swathe across the heavens of red — deep, 
blood red. A line of tall palm trees, black 
silhouettes, slowly move their drooping, 
feathery branches, bending their graceful 
heads to one another. What are they 
saying? 

Oh ! the mystery and the ferocity of this 
land! Under the outward calm there lies 
the sword. *' Din-Din-Din Muhommed. '* 



94 




X 



THE ROAD TO SENOURIS 



Saturday, March 4th. 

A COLD, gray morning, but we rise at 
^^ six to go duck shooting on the lake. 
The boat, which looks like a Chinese junk, 
cannot come within twenty yards of the 
shore, because the water is shallow; so w^e 
are carried on board by the native fisher- 
men. 

The preparations to make the boat ready 
for our reception are amusing. The Arabs 
get bucket loads of sand and pour them 
on the stern, which is decked over. Then 
a carpet, brought for the purpose, is spread 

95 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

out for us to sit upon. As we row out we 
are continually caught in the tamarisk 
bushes. Little peninsulas of sand jut into 
the lake, upon which are erected diminu- 
tive straw huts, and wooden supports on 
which the nets are drying. 

The fishermen are wild-looking people, 
appearing almost like savages when com- 
pared with the fellaheen on the Nile banks. 
They seem an amphibious race, and are 
scantily clad in a sort of coarse yellow 
sacking, in which with instinctive art they 
manage to look very picturesque. 

The pink flowers of the tamarisks rising 
from the surface of the water ; the shape of 
the boats; the tiny bamboo shelters, re- 
mind one of Japan. 

But the rhythmical song which the boat- 
men sing is of Egypt, and may be heard 
from one end of the land to the other as the 
rower bends to his oar — "Allah! houa! Ja 
Mohammed! Ja Ahmed! Ja Embahi! Ja 
Abbasi! Hele, hele!" 

96 



XHe I^oad to Senoxiris 

The ducks prove even wilder than the 
natives. We find that the only way to get 
a shot is to hide the boat in the tamarisk 
bushes and wait patiently for them to fly 
over us. We eventually succeed in shoot- 
ing one. 

On our return to camp, the wind again 
threatens to rise, so we decide to move on 
to Senouris immediately, to exchange the 
sand dunes for the green of the Fayoum, 
forgetting that Senouris is eighteen miles 
away, and that the pace at which a caravan 
travels is less than three miles an hour. 
We break the news to Fadlallah, who 
accepts it with Oriental resignation, and 
by three o'clock we are once more under 
weigh. 

After riding through a few more miles of 
the desert, it is with a thrill of delightful 
anticipation that we step from the endless 
sands into the green fields. We see run- 
ning water; and trees, that give actual 
shade, no longer phantoms of mirage. The 
7 97 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

pure, dry air of the desert, the exhilarating 
life of those lifeless regions, has now 
changed. The scent of spring and green 
growing things is in our nostrils. 

We find some difficulty in getting the 
sand-cart along, as the Fayoum is inter- 
laced with deep canals, and the path on 
the banks is often narrower than the width 
between the wheels. Our donkey boys 
overcome this difficulty by lifting the cart 
bodily over the worst places. 

The country is flat and thoroughly culti- 
vated. Barley is turning ripe; fields of 
bursum, on which the flocks feed, are a 
wealth of green, and their flowers are in 
full bloom, which make them look in the 
distance like a misty blue carpet. Cotton, 
fig trees, vines, and clover are also seen in 
abundance. 

Prosperity seems to reign in this happy 
land. 

Here and there are encamped gypsies in 
low, brown-striped tents, the women rarely 

98 




u 

C 

-t-> 






ON 



TTHe IVoad to Senoviris 

wearing the yashmak. Some of the gypsy 
women run to the roadway as soon as they 
espy us, and stand in open-eyed wonder 
until we pass. They are often quite pretty 
with faint blue tattooings on their bronze 
chins. They have large, soft eyes, small, 
well-shaped hands and feet, and slender, 
beautiful figures. They often adorn them- 
selves with a gold filigree ring in the nose, 
and flat coin necklaces. Like all the women 
of Egypt they carry their babies astride 
on one shoulder. 

The necklaces these women wear often 
represent the wealth of their husbands. 
The natives convert their earnings into 
gold coins, which they place for safety 
round the necks of their wives and daugh- 
ters. If the family finds itself in pe- 
cuniary difficulties, the men will take 
a coin to the nearest bazaar and realize 
its value. Often women whose dress and 
appearance would lead one to suppose 
them destitute, are wearing necklaces 

lOI 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

and anklets worth from thirty to forty 
pounds. 

These people are hung with charms and 
amulets; for all Orientals greatly fear the 
Evil Eye. They believe if an object is 
looked on with covetous feelings, trouble 
will ensue, not to him who covets, but to 
the object coveted. A mother will keep 
her baby in shabby clothing in order that 
another woman may not cast an envious 
eye on it. 

We meet a Nubian girl whose robe is 
somewhat scanty, but she wears a bunch of 
white cowrie shells against her ebony skin, 
not in a spirit of coquetry, but to divert the 
gaze of the public from herself to the shells. 
It is a point of etiquette with every Arab 
that he so word his admiration that he re- 
nounces every wish to possess the beautiful 
object before him. He may say Hashallah 
(God's will be done) to show his appreci- 
ation. Any other expression would be 
deemed a breach of good manners. 

102 



*«3sMijifli 




" Wayfarers in the Libyan Desert" Photo., P. Dittrich 

A Bedouin Girl 



103 



TKe I^oad to Senouris 

As we go deeper into the Fayoum, the 
path becomes a road, with a constant 
stream of busy active Hfe; animated but 
surprisingly noiseless. The donkeys trot 
briskly, some almost hidden under their 
burdens. People amble by on these little 
beasts, lurch along on camels, or walk with 
a swinging gait. A favored few gallop on 
small gay horses. Flocks of mingled goats 
and sheep are driven by stalwart shepherds. 
The air is full of dust, which, in the rays 
of the declining sun is turned to a golden 
haze, making a fairylike setting for this 
scene of cheerful activity. 

All seem too much occupied with their 
own affairs to pay attention to us, as they 
quickly pass us, except the water buffaloes, 
who, with raised heads peer at us out of 
their inquisitive, self-satisfied little eyes. 
Their appearance is a cross between a cow 
and a hippopotamus, their curiosity that 
of a monkey, and their bad temper their 
own. We pass one of them who has just 

105 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

shaken off its pack in a ditch from which 
an old man and a child are trying to pull 
it. The evident malignant pleasure of the 
brute makes one wish to beat it. These 
animals are seen to the greatest advantage 
lying, as they delight to do in hot weather, 
in a muddy pool with only part of their 
ugly heads showing above the surface of 
the water ; although it is rather impressive 
to see a string of them walking up a bank 
after they have been bathing in a stream, 
with measured tread and proud self-satisfac- 
tion, their gray hides glistening in the sun. 

As we approach Senouris, drops of rain 
begin to fall. We know only too well that 
our caravan cannot overtake us for at 
least two hours. It is already six o'clock, 
and the sun is setting as we enter the town. 

Fortunately Fadlallah knows the om- 
deh, and assures us that the latter will 
gladly offer us shelter and hospitality, 
which is the custom of a country where no 
hotels exist. 

io6 



TTKe IVoad to Senoviris 

After riding along tortuous streets, we 
pass through an arched gateway, forming 
one side of an open square. Beyond 
is a similar gateway, on the left a 
garden, while on the right stands a large 
house. 

It is here we are to seek shelter. After 
consultation between Fadlallah and the 
door-keeper, a dignified figure appears, 
dressed in a yellow silk kaftan, a blue cloth 
galabieh, and a large white turban. It is 
Mured Bey, omdeh of the village. He at 
once makes us welcome. We follow him 
through an outer and inner courtyard. 
On the threshold of the second doorway 
are rows of many-colored slippers, telling 
of company within. 

We enter a large room with divans round 
the walls, on which are seated many friends 
and relations. The room is dark, and the 
murmur of conversation is like the hum of 
bees. 

No one shows the slightest surprise at 
109 



In. tHe Libyan Desert 

this sudden invasion of four foreign women, ^ 
slightly dishevelled, very tired and dusty, 
descending from either sand-cart, camel, 
or donkey. We are at once offered coffee 
and cigarettes, while the three beys, in 
turn, come and attempt conversation with 
us. 

The rain having ceased, temporarily, we 
are glad to be taken into the garden. It 
is too dark to see anything except the 
palms waving their graceful branches 
against the sky, but the smell of jasmine 
is wafted to us in the soft air, we crush 
geranium leaves beneath our feet as we 
walk, and their sharp sweet scent tells of 
hot summer days to come. 

Through the still air there falls as if 
from the skies, a clear voice, rising, falling, 
swelling — the call to prayer: 

"God is great, God is great — 
There is no God but God — 
I bear witness that Muhommed 

^ The wanderers and their maids. 

IIO 



TKe Road to Senoxiris 

Is the Prophet of God — 

Come to prayer — come to prayer — 

God is great — 

There is no God but God." 

From the great world of Islam, from the 
ends of the earth, the summons goes forth, 
and a wave of prayer is wafted to Allah 
from countless worshippers in distant 
camps, in obscure oases, in crowded cities. 
To the north, to the south, to the east, to 
the west, the moving voice calls, and from 
far minarets drops earthward like a faint 
echo, "Come to prayer — God is great. 
God is great." 

Dinner is announced, and we return to 
find that the room has been cleared and 
two small tables set, one for us and one 
for our maids. The Egyptians are true 
lovers of flowers, and near our plates are 
tight, little nosegays of roses and jasmine. 

Besides entertaining us, these hospitable 
people are feeding our dragoman, donkey 
boys, pony, and groom. 

Ill 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

The Arabs have mastered the art of 
making meat tender in a country where 
you eat your sheep the day it is killed. 
We sit down to an excellent meal of kufta, 
which is rice and mutton with a rice sauce ; 
a dish called doukkah, composed of vege- 
tables highly spiced; a boiled chicken; 
crisp Arab bread made in large flat discs; 
a corn-flower pudding, and a preserve, 
which consists of apricots stewed with 
almonds and raisins. 

The Arab is content to eat with 
his fingers, or a spoon, when neces- 
sary, but in deference to our Western 
ideas we are provided with knives and 
forks. 

A black slave with bare, noiseless feet 
enters, carrying a gilt basin with a per- 
forated cover. We hold out our hands 
while he pours over them warm water, 
scented with jasmine flowers, from a tall 
gilt jug which matches the basin. This 
ceremony over, Amin Bey comes in to see 

112 



XHe IVoacl to Senoxiris 



that we have all we require, and coffee is 

passed to 

us. 

It is near- 
ly nine o'- 
clock when 
we hear the 
welcome 
news that 
our c a r a- 
van has ar- 
rived, and 
our tents 
await us 
half a mile 
away. We 
say good- 
night to our 
kind hosts, 
thanking them for their opportune hos- 
pitality. 

On reaching our destination we appreci- 
ate how much we have asked of our men 

113 




A Traveller 



In tH© Libyan Desert 

in requiring them to pitch a camp in the 
night, ha\'ing to grope for even'thing in 
the dark and rain, after a six hours' march. 
Luckily our bedding is dr^*, but our Arabs 
spend a miserable night, sleeping on the 
damp ground, with their heads all muffled to 
protect them from the rain. The first thing 
a native does when it becomes chill}', is to 
wrap up his head and ears. He then con- 
siders himseh' immune from catching cold. 
We discover later on that our watchman 
Reshid has a bad chill, but he never com- 
plains or shirks his duty. Repeated doses of 
quinine eventually cure him without his hav- 
ing to resort to the hakim, a native doctor, 
whose remed}^ would probably consist of an 
obscure verse from the Koran printed on a 
piece of paper and soaked in water, after 
which the verse is taken out of the water, 
which the patient then drinks. If he is not 
speedily cured, it is the will of Allah that he 
remain ill. It is Kismet, and who can alter 
the appointed thing? '' AlhamdiiliUahi.'" 

114 






XI 



A GARDEN OF ALLAH 



Sunday, March 5th. 

THE morning reveals to us that we are 
camped in a ''Garden of Allah," an 
opening in a forest of palm trees. 

In the soft sand beneath, grow all 
manner of lovely flowers. Saxifrages with 
yellow-green, gray-green, and blue-green 
leaves; mesambrianthemums with starry, 
orange, or purple-red blossoms; pomegran- 
ates with shiny leaves and pink flowers; 

115 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

while more marvellous than all are the 
scarlet hibiscus that spread in reckless pro- 
fusion, dazzling to the eyes. 

Beautiful birds perch in the trees. Hoop- 
oes, golden orioles, and other brilliantly 
plumaged denisons of this region, flutter 
about, seeming to know no fear. A stream 
steals by in the sunshine. A road leading 
we know not where, surges with a continual 
flow of animated life. Horsemen in grace- 
fully draped burnooses, with guns slung 
across their shoulders, mounted on their 
little Arab steeds with high-peaked saddles 
and gay trappings, dash by. Ladies of 
the harem, veiled and muflled in volumin- 
ous black silk, pass on ambling donkeys. 
Long strings of camels, more or less 
heavily burdened, file past. The women 
of the people wrapped in their dark hulali- 
yehs swell the population of the road, while 
the small "gamin, " clad in orange or blue, 
flits about, adding color to the scene. 

Directly opposite our tents is a large 
ii6 



A Garden of AllaH 

sycamore tree, giving shade to a well and a 
marabout's tomb. Bamboos, prickly pears, 
apricots, and mish-mish grow rampant 
beside it, and here are always to be found 
a few grave, bearded Arabs smoking their 
narghilehs. Through long vistas we can see 
in the far distance the gold of the desert 
crossed with long stripes of vivid blue, 
caused by the shadows of white clouds, 
floating above in the azure sky. This is 
indeed a day of content, and we are ab- 
sorbed in the beauty surrounding us. The 
sun pours from the blue vault of heaven; 
we lie basking in the warmth, and these soft 
bright rays in some inscrutable way renew 
and fortify not only the body but the 
spirit. The birds lilt in a tree- top ecstasy ; 
the bees on lazy wing seek the hearts of 
the gorgeous flowers; the air is full of per- 
fume and sound. From the depths of the 
desert, where the winds blow unheeded and 
unheard, comes a soft breeze bearing we 
know not what message of peace and life 

119 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

and fate. The magical spirit of the East 
holds us in its enthralling spell. 

We are hoping to see our hosts of the 
night before, and at sunset the three beys 
arrive. It is so warm that we sit outside 
the dining tent, holding an animated con- 
versation to the best of our ability. Though 
they speak no tongue except Arabic, and 
can only read that language, they are 
extraordinarily well informed. In dis- 
cussing sport they are much interested to 
hear of grouse driving and pheasant shoot- 
ing, and listen with thrilled excitement to 
accounts of deer stalking in Scotch forests. 
One of them shows us his rifle, with which 
he shoots the wolves in the Fayoum, or 
occasionally a gazelle in the desert, and we 
realize what an excellent shot he must be, 
if ever wolf or gazelle fall to the queer, old- 
fashioned rifle. We speak of salmon fish- 
ing in Norway, of ski-ing, of the cold north, 
and the snow they have never seen. They 
listen intently, gravely ejaculating ^'mash- 

120 



A Garden of AllaK 

allah/' as we picture an unknown world. 
Their charm, ease, and simplicity of man- 
ner make the visit interesting and agree- 
able. We are sorry when the time comes 
to say good-bye. 

Hearing that Senouris is famous for its 
dancing girls, this night we send for one. 
The dining tent is cleared of everything 
except our chairs. After dinner we sit 
waiting in the still, African night. A faint, 
subtle fragrance fills the air. Above our 
heads the lanterns gleam fitfully. Through 
the upraised flap of the tent are the lumin- 
ous stars, and the palm trees gently bend- 
ing their drooping branches like beckoning 
arms. We can well understand that in 
far-off days the palm tree was worshipped 
as the living body of Hathor, the Egyptian 
Venus. 

Presently voices break the stillness, and 
into the tent file six Arabs in white drap- 
eries, who gravely seat themselves cross- 
legged on the ground on either side of the 

121 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

entrance. Two have flutes, two tom-toms^ 
and two mark the rhythm by clapping 
hands. The cadenced music begins lan- 
guidly, repeating the same refrain again 
and again. Gradually it gains force and 
volume, then come notes like the shrilling 
of bagpipes, then sudden bursts of sound 
like Russian music, returning always to the 
original theme — plaintive, penetrating, 
monotonous. 

Suddenly out of the night against the 
purple dusk appears a slender, upright 
figure, all gold and scarlet — the dancer of 
Senouris, red roses in her dark hair, shim- 
mering red silk draperies, gold bangles on 
her arms and ankles. Filigree necklaces 
fall from her small, round throat to her 
waist; huge earrings hang in her ears, a 
nose-ring in one delicate nostril. Her 
great, dark eyes have the shy appealing 
expression of the gazelle, but in their 
depths lies the inscrutable gaze of Egypt — 
eyes which through endless incarnations 

122 



A Garden of AllaH 

have looked on many things. Her chin 
under the curving red Hps is faintly tat- 
tooed in blue. It is not disfiguring and 
though primitive and savage, is wholly 
soft and alluring. 

A gun is handed to her. With arms held 
in the stiff, conventional manner often 
seen on the ancient bas-reliefs, she lifts it 
under her chin and begins to dance. The 
upper part of the body is held immovable, 
except the arms. The gun points to the 
right, points to the left, while the slender, 
bare feet keep time to the music. She 
never seems to lift them from the ground 
as she circles slowly round the tent, still 
pointing the gun, occasionally dropping to 
the ground, on one knee, limp, with the 
apparently boneless suppleness of the East. 

One of the men seizes a gun and joins 
in the dance. They advance, retreat, 
circle round each other, cricle round the 
tent. Our camel men who cluster about 
the door, keeping time to the weird, 

123 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

throbbing music by clapping their hands 
are visibly delighted. 

Another man jumps up and dances 
wildly, holding his arms outstretched on a 
level with his eyes, his bare feet shuffling 
noiselessly on the floor. The excitement 
is intense. 

The music changes into a minor key and 
the girl dances more slowly; her sinuous 
body undulates in long curves, her eyes are 
half shut, her arms move in rhythm to the 
wild, seductive music. The hoarse cries 
of approval cease ; the Arabs are silent but 
their eyes are gleaming. 

Again the music changes. We seem 
to hear the soft sound of the desert wind 
and see vast sunlit spaces. The dancer's 
mouth is set, her body is rigid; only the 
wonderful arms entwined with gold, the 
graceful hands with henna-stained nails 
are moving — she is like a sphinx dancing 
itself back to life, an incarnation of the 
soul of the desert. 

124 



-A. Garden of AllaH 

Abruptly the music ceases; we return 
from dreamland ; the dance is over. 

The dancer is tired and asks for a cigar- 
ette. She sits cross-legged on the floor 
pufflng rings of smoke from her red lips, 
talking with animation in a low voice with 
notes in the throat like those of a thrush. 
With her intense vitality and indescribable 
look of race, she is a bewitching figure. 
She softly sings a plaintive song of her 
people : 

"I am wounded, full of wounds, upbring me 

my physican, 
I have been wounded by a lance of eyes. Oh ! 

Lord grant me my beloved." 

If we miss something in the dancing, it may 
be that the dancer herself lacks the divine 
spark which alone can reach out and deeply 
move one. 

There is much that suggests Cossack 
dancing — the fire and the energy. But in 
the Bedouin dancing there is a marked 

125 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

reserve, which might suggest lassitude, did 
one not feel that the restraint is intentional, 
and that beneath it lies an unconquerable 
force, a force that does not expend itself. 
Perhaps in this lies the strength of the 
Orient — its permanency. 



126 



I T !t/* 1^1? 





^■■jgsfeii^a.;. 



XII 



ROSE GARDENS OF FEDDAMIN 



Monday, March 6th. 

THERE is now a question as to the 
direction of our further wanderings. 
The feeling that time does not exist in this 
land of maleesh and Kismet soon happily 
takes possession of us. Our vagabond spirit 
from the first refused to make plans. We 
stopped in one place or drifted to another 
as the caprice of the moment suggested. 

127 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

Some one had spoken of the roses at 
Feddamin. The rose gardens of Fedda- 
min ! What an alluring sound ! The more 
often we repeat it, the more definite be- 
comes the picture in our minds of these 
enchanting gardens. Loath though we are 
to leave our present resting-place, the 
compelling charm of the sound of the rose 
gardens of Feddamin calls us. We feel 
that old Omar's spirit must be lurking 
there, for as he said : 

"And look, a thousand blossoms with the day 
Woke; and a thousand scattered into clay." 

Surely would the Persian poet have loved 
this land of the rose, the vine, and the 
green shade he sang of — a haven of beauty 
encircled by the golden desert. 

We start early and pass the Arabs sitting 
cross-legged beneath the sycamore trees, 
gravely talking and smoking; women are 
filling stone water jars at the spring, and 

128 



hWb'^^ 




IVose Gardens of Keddamin 

poising them on their heads, with stately 
grace. The children in their bright gar- 
ments are darting about, the road is alive 
with passers up and down. Our long cara- 
van joins the throng, marching single 
file. 

To-day the old cook Muhommed is 
walking. He and Fadlallah have had a 
dispute as to which is responsible for the 
bad butter, of which we had complained. 
Muhommed said he would gladly buy good 
butter if Fadlallah would give him the 
money. Fadlallah replied that he had 
given this miserable old Shylock the money 
and still the butter was bad. Whereupon 
Muhommed went ''on strike" and refused 
to cook Fadlallah 's breakfast, who as a 
punishment, decreed that Muhommed 
should walk, and took away his donkey. 
All this we learned afterwards; also, that 
as soon as we were out of sight old Mu- 
hommed mounted the camel which carried 
the kitchen tent and its appurtenances. So 

131 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

not much harm was done. And some of 
us continued not to eat the butter. 

We pass under an archway, stop a 
moment in the market-place, where a busy 
crowd are chaffering, file through the nar- 
row streets, golden in the blazing sunshine, 
with shadows as brilliant and blue as the 
Mediterranean . 

Out of the town we are once again on the 
high road. Our retinue is swelled by the 
presence of Abdullah the Magnificent. 

He rides a swift dromedary, gay with 
tassels. His embroidered saddle-cloth of 
green and scarlet and high -peaked saddle 
are works of art. The long Arab gun 
slung across his back is beautifully inlaid ; 
the turban folded round his scarlet tar- 
bouche snowy white. He is delegated by 
the beys to remain with us while we are 
in the Fayoum, to add protection with his 
gun, and dignity and honor with his 
presence. He leads the way, clearing a 

132 



IVose Gardens of Peddamin 



path for us, shouting in imperious tones, 
^'Oah Yameenek, Oah Shumalek/^ waving, 
with a commanding hand, donkeys, camels, 
and their 
owners into 
the ditch on 
the side of 
the road. 

The sugar- 
cane is be- p,,.- 
ing cut and 
many don- 
keys amble 
along with 
loadsofcane, 
cut in six- 
foot lengths, ^ "^°^^"^ obstruction 

across their backs. Their riders who are 
busily chewing the sweet sugar-cane leave 
their donkeys to choose their own path, 
and it is no easy matter to pass them. 
When we see camels advancing with loads 
rising far above their supercilious heads, 

133 




In tKe Libyan Desert 

and as broad as the road, we know that 
we are the ones who must take to the 
ditch. 

Many of these camels are gaily capari- 
soned with embroidered trappings, from 
which hang brightly-colored tufts and tas- 
sels. The most dissatisfied of a notably 
discontented race are gurgling and gobbling 
like turkeys. Others look with disdainful 
indifference, as slowly moving their high 
heads from side to side, and stepping with 
soft precision, they lurch along with lan- 
guid grace. One of them is so surprised 
at the sight of our sand-cart (the first one 
to cross the Fayoum) that it stops, looks 
at us, at the cart, at the pony, and at Said 
with an inquiring and contemplative air. 
When urged on by its rider, it advances a 
few steps, then stops, turns, and again 
carefully scrutinizes each detail. 

There are inquisitive camels, intelligent 
camels, contemptuous camels, indifferent 
camels, yet all have in common an air of 

134 



IVose Gardens of Feddamin 

sadness and conscious superiority to the 
petty world of men, as if haunted in their 
servitude by the remembrance of some 
high estate from which they have fallen. 
It is said that no European can really 
manage a camel. 

**The East is the East, the West the West, 
and never the twain shall meet." 

Slowly we travel through this garden of 
Eden, the sponge-like hoofs of the camels 
and the bare feet of the Arabs passing 
silently over the ground. As the road is 
rough and uneven, we discard the sand-cart 
for the donkeys, which amble along at 
a slow trot that is very soothing. The 
smallest of our donkey boys, little Hussan, 
is joyfully singing at the top of his voice; 
his song is an ode to some dusky beauty 
clad in Indian silk. His little bronze 
figure is the embodiment of grace, and he 
sings with the untrammelled joyousness of 
the soaring lark. He never seems to tire 

137 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

during the long, hot marches; though his 
years are but twelve his young strength 
makes light of the daily task, for he is a 
true son of the desert; he comes of a race 
that has ever lived in the freedom of its 
expanse. 

We are proceeding southwest, the coun- 
try becoming more wooded. We skirt 
deep ravines with swiftly running streams, 
olive groves, thickets of palm and cactus, 
while now and again in the distance we get 
a glimpse of the great lake. 

In this brilliant Eastern sunshine we 
envy the women their kohl-encircled eyes, 
for when pencilled round the rim it softens 
the glare and saves the eye from many 
diseases that lurk in the dust and heat. 

And always the sun is raining down a 
stream of molten gold, painting the mud 
houses with dazzling color, making the 
white domes shimmer like pearls. Waves 
of heat quiver along the ground. 

138 



p^- 



wwsji^M j i ' ^fm ' wi iga J 




IVose Gardens of Feddamin 

The fertility of this country is beyond 
the dream of the most avaricious farmer, 
and several harvests are reaped during the 
year. The clover, which now reaches to 
our knees, is cut three times, and the corn 
ripens in a few wrecks. These arable lands, 
fertilized by the rich deposit of the Nile, 
do not require the rest so essential to our 
soil. The plough is generally drawn by a 
camel, as the buffaloes are reserved for 
working the wells. The land is so satur- 
ated with the constant irrigation that the 
primitive wooden plough used by the 
fellaheen tills it with the greatest ease. In 
this wonderful country nature responds 
lavishly to the slightest effort. ' ' Where we 
set up steam-machines, the fellah scratches 
the ground with a match. " 

A pastoral people have lived here from 
time immemorial, and we meet many flocks 
of sheep and goats. The former are small 
and brown, with horned heads, and their 
wool is long and silky. The dogs that 

141 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

guard the flocks are very fierce, and our 
escort had frequently to throw stones to 
keep them from attacking us. We had 
one horrible experience, for one of them 
seized poor little Hussan's cotton robe and 
would have mauled the child if Fadlallah 
had not hit it heavily with the butt end of 
his gun. The brute crawled away moan- 
ing. Of course the angry owner descended 
upon us, and a stormy scene ensued, but 
we soon appeased him with backsheesh. 

At noon we halt in the shade of an olive 
wood to lunch. 

Our luncheon tent remains on the drome- 
dary's back, and the green coolness is very 
welcome after the dust and glare of the 
road. 

Little rivulets run like a network through 
the land, and a giant Lebek tree throws a 
great, purple shadow on the ground and 
dancing water. From our resting-place, 
through the twisted trunks of the trees, 
we still see the road with its wayfarers, 

142 



IVose Gardens of Feddamin 

donkeys carrying huge panniers of vege- 
tables or fruit, camels with great bales of 
merchandise. Now comes a magnificent 
white donkey, its ears and tail dyed with 
henna, a fancy pattern clipped on its 
hind-quarters, and perched on his scarlet 
saddle is a dignified gentleman, whose large 
girth proclaims him the possessor of many 
shekels. 

We lunch while the busy world on the 
road streams by, and drowse through the 
golden afternoon till the lengthening shad- 
ows tell us that we must be moving onward. 

Continuing our way, the tropical vege- 
tation increases. Forests of giant prickly 
pears, orange trees bearing their wealth 
of white flowers and yellow fruit, mimosa 
and oleanders weighted with their load 
of pink blossoms, spread away on each 
side of the road, and the fairy like, pale 
flower of the mish-mish is blooming every- 
where. We are journeying through an 
enchanted world reaching Feddamin all 

10 145 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

too quickly, to find our camp pitched 
on the market-place, a spot evidently 
sacred to the accumulated rubbish of cen- 
turies. Even the surrounding gardens do 
not make up for the dirt at our feet. 

The inhabitants look on us with the 
superb indifference of the East. But we 
can scarcely believe our eyes at sight of 
their chickens. We see two flapping feath- 
ery wings, the rest of the fowl plucked bare 
as if ready for the pot. As these fowls are 
walking cheerfully about, we come to the 
conclusion that they are suffering from some 
terrible but painless disease. It is many a 
day before we dare eat chicken again. 

We ramble through the narrow uneven 
streets with their indolent, shiftless, ever- 
changing crowd. Women in graceful drap- 
eries pass by on naked feet, bundles poised 
on their graceful heads, their dark eyes 
gleaming above the concealing veil which 
is held in place by a piece of bamboo 
between the eyes. 

146 



R.ose Gardens of Feddamin 




Snake charmer 



Photo., P. Dittrich 



Children in garments of many colors 
flit about like gay butterflies, making 

147 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

the air resound with laughter and merry 
voices. 

A passing snake charmer scrutinizes us. 

Tucked away in a quiet corner is a little 
bookshop. The owner, who wears large 
spectacles, is evidently a Hadji. He has 
made the pilgrimage to Mecca and is 
entitled to wear the sacred green turban. 
He is also a man of learning, the scribe who 
manages the correspondence of the illiter- 
ate population. Beside him stands a client 
dictating a letter, which the spectacled one 
is immortalizing on paper. 

Further along the street is a cafe, where 
the customers sit on little straw mats, 
sipping coffee, smoking, drowsing, as if the 
hours were created alone for sleep and 
enjoyment. At night the story-teller will 
come to relate to them a tale of some popu- 
lar hero, and his audience will sit huddled 
round, listening with rapt attention as he 
tells of battles and mighty deeds of the 
past. These Arabs love to hear a good 

148 



IVose Gardens of Fedclaiiiin 

story, and the art of recitation is held in 
very high esteem. 

Where are the shades of Omar? Luckily 
for him, not here. 

A nearby garden had a rather green and 
pleasing effect. We struggle through the 
cactus hedge and beyond it we are in a 
longed-for garden of Feddamin, but are 
disappointed to find no place to sit or rest, 
as the ground is alternately sandy, or 
muddy from the irrigation, which is neces- 
sary as little rain falls, and the vegetation 
is dependent on the sluicing of the canals, 
which intersect the land. Such a garden! 
Cactuses, prickly pears, and some shrubs 
and stunted trees. The mud is half dried 
in some of the irrigating canals, on the 
edges of which we stumble along, torn by 
the prickly pears. Not a rose, not a 
flower. 

We are cheered by hearing gay voices, 
and across a hedge we see a man, half-way 
up a palm tree, cutting the branches and 

149 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

tossing them to a woman who stands 
below. They are working steadily but 
their gay, light-hearted chatter never 
ceases until we make our appearance. 

Fadlallah, who has been piloting us, 
speaks to them and they cheerfully answer, 
while looking at us with great but re- 
strained interest. 

Date palms are largely cultivated here, 
forests of them stretching away as far as 
the eye can reach, a sight to gladden the 
Arab heart. Of all the gifts of nature to 
Egypt, the palm tree might easily rank 
first. Its trunk supplies the people with 
beams in a country where wood is practi- 
cally non-existent. Its fruit is a useful 
article of food, baskets are made from its 
leaves, while its fibre is used for ropes, 
cordage, nets, and mats. 

The female palm tree is named nakla by 
the Arabs, who regard her with much 
affection. A male palm will fertilize sev- 
eral naklas, and the life of these trees 

150 



IVose Gardens of Feddamin 

extends over many centuries. When the 
trees look withered, and cease to yield a 
crop of dates, the Arabs bleed them, on the 
same principle as the hakeen bleeds his 
patients, but usually with a better result. 
If the tree still does not yield to treatment, 
they take very drastic measures, cutting 
off its head, which has the surprising result 
of making it produce new branches, which 
in their turn bear fruit. A palm will sub- 
mit to being decapitated twice, or even 
three times, but there is a limit to its 
patience and it seldom survives a third 
mutilation. 

We are not tempted to pursue our in- 
vestigations further, and start back, crouch- 
ing under the low branches of the trees, 
trying to avoid the mud and the thorns. 
We find on our return that the omdeh has 
invited us to remove our camp to one of 
his gardens. We ask, still hopeful, "Are 
there roses?" "No. Possibly some rose 
bushes, but no roses; it is too early." 

151 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

We are too broken-spirited to move. 
Just then Reshid appears with a handful 
of small yellow fruit. It proves to be a 
delicious miniature lemon with a faint 
flavor of lime. So, like many another, 
**we picked a lemon where we thought 
only roses grew. " 

From the depths of the garden comes the 
haunting familiar sound of an Arab flute. 
We discover the player, a boy of perhaps 
sixteen years, with an intelligent face and 
dark, sombre eyes which gaze at us with a 
strange unmeaning stare. He is very poor, 
judging from his one faded blue cotton 
garment, and we offer him backsheesh, 
which, to our amazement he ignores. We 
discover that he is blind. The light of the 
golden day, the splendor of the starry 
nights are alike hidden from him. He 
lives in a land of shadows; plaintive, 
desolate music constitutes his world. 

The sunset is gorgeous. Masses of pink, 
fleecy clouds trail along the blue ether, and 

152 



R.ose Gardens of Feclclamin 

the slender, new moon gleams occasionally 
through the rose mist. As we watch, the 
western sky changes to a flaming red 
which slowly turns to bright pink, to 
mauve, to pale green. For nearly an hour 
this glory of color lasts as the sun sinks 
below the horizon. Then in a faint blue 
sky, the evening star shines with a radiance 
that lights our earth. It is said that the 
star-light of Egypt is brighter than the 
moonlight of the North. 

Our night is much disturbed by the 
howling of the wolves that infest these 
gardens. There are quantities of them, 
and they are difficult to exterminate be- 
cause of the almost tropical jungle. 

What was even more disturbing than 
the wolves was the constant shooting 
going on all night by our watchman and 
half the villagers who seemed to be firing 
at some band of marauders. To add to 
the din, the inhabitants of all the hen- 
roosts were clamoring and cackling in an 

153. 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

extremity of agitation, while the dogs 
never ceased barking through the tumult 
of the night. As dawn approached, a 
hush fell on the world . . . then the soft 
cadence of the muezzin'' s call to the faith- 
ful rang through the silence. The hour of 
prayer had arrived, a pagan of praise rose 
and heralded the unborn day. 



154 




XIII 



MEDINA 



Tuesday, March 7th. 

\\TE have gladly shaken the dust of the 
" ^ market-place of Feddamin from 
our feet, but we know that when we have 
returned to the cold realities and the futile 
rush of modern life, the dust will be for- 
gotten. 

The gardens with their glory of flower 
and fruit, the scent of the orange blossoms 
in the warm air, the flaming sunset, will 
beckon us to return in dreams to this 

155 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

enchanting world that holds a profound 
joy, a perfect content in its radiant 
atmosphere. 

We are now on the road to Medina. 
As we leave the gardens behind, the path 
becomes steeper. We enter a narrow road 
which winds for miles through a magnifi- 
cent avenue of palm trees. Their straight 
trunks rise on either side like a colonnade. 
High above us their plumed branches meet 
in a canopy, through which here and there, 
the brilliant sun pours, making purple 
shadows on their trunks, and on the red 
earth. On either side framed by the dark 
trees, stretch bright sunlit fields. Great 
shrubs of flowering mish-mish, a mass of 
soft pink blossom, stand in strong relief 
against clumps of vivid green bamboo. 

At last we leave the winding avenue of 
palms. We cross bridges over chasms 
with water running beneath, the tall trees 
reflected in the stream. 

The sides of these ravines are the happy 
156 



Medina 

homes of the flowers. Great clusters of 
yellow saxifrage deck the steep sides, while 
scarlet and violet mesambrianthemuras 
trail their gaudy, fantastic blossoms over 
the gray rock. Rare ferns peep out from 
every nook and cranny, and thorny mimo- 
sas create a fairy world of emerald-tinted 
shadow. 

On the edge of the stream the women 
kneel to wash their household linen, while 
their brown babies run naked on the bank. 
Close to them a buffalo is swimming in a 
pool, its black muzzle alone, showing above 
the surface of the water, while its owner 
on the bank is uselessly using alternate 
threats and entreaties to make it come to 
land. 

Along the dusty road two weary figures 
are trudging, a man and a woman. The 
man limps painfully as he passes ; his eyes 
stare vacantly at us with no sense of 
recognition. Behind him the woman stag- 
gers slowly under the weight of the sick 

159 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

child she carries in her arms. Her face is 
unveiled, her black garments trail un- 
heeded in the dust. We can hear the 
moans of the suffering child. For many 
days these poor parents have trudged the 
long road on a pilgrimage to the tomb of 
Sid Ali, the special protector of children. 
History relates how the famous merchant 
loved the little ones, and these Arabs will 
reverently lay their precious burdens at 
the feet of the saint, trusting that he will 
intercede with Allah on behalf of their 
baby. 

For the first time we see Egyptian geese 
in the villages and on the edges of the 
pools. 

Basket making seems an important in- 
dustry. In front of many houses, sit 
women with a pile of split bamboo leaves 
beside them, busily plaiting, while many 
are weaving at small handlooms. We see 
men in bright blue cotton garments thatch- 
ing roofs, and chanting ''Allah, Allah, 

1 60 



Medina 

Allah," as they work. The children, the 
dogs, and the dust are present as always. 
Pigeon houses raise their square heads 




\^: 






Pigeon houses 

above the palms and bamboos. They are 
to be seen throughout Egypt and are very 
charming when, as to-day, their towers 
rise from among green shrubs and trees. 
Sometimes they look almost like huge 
fortresses, dominating the entire village, so 
large and massive are they. The pigeons 
II i6i 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

are not only sold in large quantities for 
food, but are useful for the guano they 
produce. Carrier pigeons have been in 
use in Egypt for ages and it may be by 
their means that news is circulated with 
such inexplicable quickness in outlying 
districts. 

Abdullah the Magnificent once more 
leads the way, leaving a trail of dust behind 
him. As we in the sand-cart do not 
appreciate this, we urge our horse to a 
gallop. The faster we go, the faster goes 
the dromedary with the conscientious Ab- 
dullah, and the thicker grows the dust. 
It is a neck to neck race for some time, but 
on gaining a short lead we are at last able 
to convey to him the idea that we prefer 
to lead, so the dromedary's nose remains 
behind our shoulders. But whenever we 
turn we are greeted with a deep salaam 
from Abdullah, indicating respect and a 
puzzled acceptance of our extraordinary 
demands. 

162 



Medina 

On entering the town of Medina we 
again allow the Magnificent one to resume 
command of the road. 

This is the chief town of the Fayoum. 
It is curiously picturesque. Through the 
central street a river runs in a deep cause- 
way, with a road on either side flanked by 
colored houses, pink, yellow, blue. 

Through half open doorways we have 
glimpses of courtyards with green trees 
and flowering shrubs. Some of the houses 
are attempted imitations of European 
styles with high stoops and iron railings at 
appalling angles, but most of them are 
Oriental with overhanging balconies en- 
closed by Morashabieh work, through the 
fine carving of which it is possible to see 
out, but not to see in. We wonder if 
beautiful Eastern women are looking down 
upon us as we pass, and envying us our 
freedom. 

One house seems to be in a curious kind 
of mourning, yards and yards of black 

163 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

cloth hang from long poles and reach above 
the doorway, in front of which stands a 
negro in a black galahieh, his hands which 
are a deeper ebony than his face rest upon 
a tall stick. We do not at first realize that 
it is a dye house. 

A motley crowd surges by us, camels 
with loads and without them, donkeys of 
every description ; some with fine trappings 
and proud riders ; others, less favored, with 
burdens of all kinds. A large gray one is 
drawing a native omnibus (a platform 
supported on four wheels) on it three 
women of the people, closely veiled, are 
seated cross-legged, while two small chil- 
dren sit beside them as solemnly as little 
Buddhas. 

All kinds and colors of men meet here. 
Black Nubians, the women wearing heavy 
nose rings. Beshariens with their hair 
standing out in a wild mop, or else in 
dozens of small tight braids well greased 
with castor oil. Fellaheen, who come to 

164 



m 




Medina 

barter: Greeks, Jews, soldiers, peddlers, 
snake charmers, pashas, ladies of the 
Harem whose transparent white gauze 
yashmaks emphasize their beauty (if they 
have any) rather than conceal their faces; 
others, whose veil held in place by a per- 
pendicular bamboo support upon the fore- 
head, covers face and figure completely. 
Lemonade and sherbert sellers with gay 
turbans and galahiehs and large richly 
colored aprons, their great brass jars 
brightly burnished, click their brass drink- 
ing cups like castanets, to call the attention 
of the public. The arahias,'^ which we 
have not seen since we left Cairo, push 
through the crowd, driven with the usual 
heedlessness. The drivers' legs raised high 
over a bundle of green bursum with which 
they feed their horses whenever they stop. 
A young girl with bare feet and an 
earthen jar poised on her head, smiles 
at us from a doorway. Three men ask 

* Small Victorias for hire. 
167 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

for backsheesh; not in the insistent manner 
of tourist-trodden spots, but in a friendly, 

' ' ^^ inythan to 

obey, to run 
away than to fight unless stiffened by 
more martial troops, had never been 
a strong arm for the defence of the 

i68 



Medina 

country. Small wonder when over the 
door of the barracks might have been 
written, ''Who enters here leaves hope 
behind." The soldier knew when he was 
drafted that he would never see his home 
again, unless, broken in health, he returned 
to be a burden to those about him. Now 
with regular pay, clean quarters, discipline, 
there is a great change. After the Arabi 
rebellion the old Egyptian army was dis- 
solved by the Khedive in 1885. When 
the English undertook to create an effi- 
cient Egyptian army the result was re- 
garded as more than problematical. These 
upstanding troops after a conscription of 
five years return to their people, and from 
a Western point of view usually relapse 
into the original Egyptian, no matter how 
promising may have seemed their aptitude 
and intelligence. Through all the ages is 
the same story repeated. Egypt makes 
the true Egyptian her own. Those who 
push into the no man's land — land of the 

169 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

adopted tarbouche and the attempted 
"Effendi" become "neither hot nor cold" 
Hke the Laodicean, and disappear from the 
earth's surface. Not on the early tombs 
do we see that type nor shall the world 
behold it in the distant future. But for 
the purposes of the army the gain has been 
great, a d who shall say how much patient 
work and self sacrifice has gone to the mak- 
ing of this achievement? 

"They have made a black man white 
They have made a mummy fight 
But the everlasting miracle 's the same." 

While Muhommed the cook does his 
marketing, we visit the bazaars, which are 
somewhat like those in Cairo, but on a 
smaller scale. There are the same narrow, 
uneven streets, sometimes open to the sky, 
occasionally roofed in with wooden rafters 
and pieces of matting through which the 
sun filters, giving a dim cool light. 

The Arabs sit in their little shops which 
170 



Medina 

are like large packing cases open in front, 
working, smoking, leisurely chatting ; their 
goods spread out to tempt the passerby. 
We explore the gold and silver bazaar with 
its anklets, necklaces, rings for fingers, 
ears, and nose, its trinkets of quaint designs 
of Eastern workmanship. In his room 
ten feet square squats the merchant, mag- 
nificent in his long, amber satin vest, outer 
robe of delicate hue, and striped silk tur- 
ban. We are not permitted to cross his 
threshold, but sit at the edge of the car- 
peted floor which is raised a few feet above 
the level of the street. Here, while Turk- 
ish coffee is passed round, there is much 
haggling, till at length a price is agreed 
upon and the bargain closes amid many 
salaams. 

We wander through the leather bazaar, 
bright with the beautifully colored skins 
hanging everywhere, a long array of kaleid- 
oscopic colors. Here also are slippers of 
every size and shape, and small velvet 

171 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

shoes heavily embroidered in pearls to be 
worn by some favorite of the harem. 

On our way to the carpet bazaar, a 
water seller with his skin of water on a small 
brown donkey looks so picturesque that 
we stop to photograph him, he is much 
pleased at the compliment, as he considers 
it, and laughs broadly. A pretty woman 
with a very thin white yashmak is equally 
willing to be taken. We pass the tent 
bazaar, and reach an old carved stone 
doorway leading into a dim alley. This 
is the scent bazaar, where the essence of 
every flower of the East is caught and 
imprisoned in slender glass bottles. Here 
among the perfumes he loves, sits cross- 
legged an Arab reading the Koran, sway- 
ing gently to the rhythm of the beautiful 
verses as he intones them in a low, melo- 
dious voice. Beyond him in the next 
recess are two men playing chess, and 
beside them, in solemn silence, sits a little 
girl whose orange gown lights up the 

172 



Medina 

dimness like a flame. Shadowy figures in 
graceful robes glide softly along the nar- 
row street, greeting one another with the 
charming salutation, "Peace be with you. " 

What a soothing spell lies on all things. 
Though the lotus has ceased to flower, this 
is still the land of the lotus, full of a 
dreamy peace, whose people are indolent, 
languorous, fatalistic, careless of past or 
future, heedless of the passing of the hours. 

With reluctance we leave this mysterious 
world, with its atmosphere as of an Arabian 
Night's Dream, and return to the busy, 
crowded streets. 

Turning eastward we cross a river which 
is a branch of the Bahar Yusuf Canal, a 
remnant of ancient Egyptian construction 
which conducts water into the Fayoum 
through an opening in the hills near Beni 
Suef. 

The god of the Fayoum, some thousand 
years ago, was worshipped here under the 
form of Sebek the crocodile, and his temple 

173 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

at Shodik was once the scene of weird 
rites. 

A number of crocodiles were kept in a 
lake in honor of the god. They were 
adorned with jewels, their ears hung with 
rings, their paws clasped with massive 
bracelets. Their admirers fed them with 
honey and fried fish, when no doubt the 
poor beasts were hungering for one of the 
fat priests who waited on them. The 
temple, the crocodiles, the priests are now 
no more, but at Kom Ombus in Upper 
Egypt there still stands a temple dedi- 
cated to Sebek, with the mummies of the 
sacred crocodiles reposing nearby in a 
shrine. 

Close to Medina rise great hills of sand, 
in whose depths probably lie hidden the 
treasures of the temple. In time the 
excavators, patiently penetrating through 
these giant mounds, may perchance bring 
to light many hidden secrets of this curious 
religion that could make a god of a croco- 

174 



Medina 

dile; an animal that almost everywhere 
else in Egypt was abhored and reviled. 

We are anxious to camp in the desert 
this night, and follow a dull road as far as 
El Edwa. 

Pan, to cheer his path, keeps singing in 
a subdued voice as he walks by the pony's 
head: 

"The baby gazelle, my children, goes behind 
its mother to her pasture, 
It goes to the pasture without any shoes, 
with little bare feet." 

We eventually strike a great, stony 
desert, whose bleached sands and dark, 
mournful-looking rocks seem chill and 
lifeless. It is late, even the afterglow has 
faded from the sky, and a sense of haunt- 
ing desolation has fallen on all things. 

It is here we pitch our camp, having 
been nine hours on the road. 

We exchange the noise of yapping dogs 
for the barking of foxes. The shrill 

175 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

laughter of hyenas is added to the growHng 
of the wolves. 

We have a double guard about the camp 
on account of the wolves. There are sev- 
eral in a ravine barking and calling to each 
other with curious, high, long-drawn notes. 
The most brave or hungry steal so close 
to our tents that we can see their dark 
forms outlined against the starlit sky. 

Although the surrounding landscape lies 
sterile and bleak, it is still the desert with 
its infinite vacancy and silence, and its 
potent power of tranquilizing the spirit. 
We sleep happily, knowing we are in the 
desert we love. 



176 




XIV 



THE FIRST SUFFRAGETTE 



Wednesday, March 8th. 

THE wind rises in the night, the camel 
men are kept busy tightening our 
tent poles and hammering in the wooden 
pegs; but two of the tents blow down. 
One is the kitchen tent where breakfast is 
being cooked, the other unfortunately is a 
sleeping tent from which a head with diffi- 
culty emerges to call for help. As soon as 
the debris is cleared away, the victim in 
her bed is carried into the dining tent, 
while odds and ends of her wardrobe are 

177 



12 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

collected from different parts of the desert 
where they have been strewn by the wind. 
Luckily almost everything was packed 
ready for starting, but the few breakable 
things left out are completely smashed. 

Another excitement is still in store for 
us this eventful morning. A loud report 
startles us. It comes from the resuscitated 
kitchen tent. Toulba the Terrible had 
got hold of the watchman's gun and aimed 
it at the cook, a Nubian of ample girth, 
whom he had missed by a few inches. We, 
in our just anger, send for Fadlallah, to 
remonstrate with him for leaving a loaded 
gun about, suggesting that children should 
not be permitted to handle firearms. He 
argues that he had been teaching the boy 
to shoot and he has been shooting! We 
are pleased to hear yells from Toulba 
shortly after our conversation with his 
father. 

This day we leave the desert for a time, 
skirting the irrigated land, having to dodge 

178 



TKe First Siaffragette 

canals that meet us at every turn. Above 
one small pool hovers a kingfisher striped 
black and white. For some minutes we 




A Wedding Party 

watch the beautiful creature poising im- 
movable, then suddenly dropping upon its 
prey in the water beneath. 

As we journey along the narrow banks 
of a canal, we see some camels coming 
toward us, on which are huge bundles 

179 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

that appear in the distance impossible to 
pass. On their approach we find it to be 
a wedding party. 

The bride is in a black howdah that 
sways on the back of the first camel. It 
s completely closed in and adorned with 
tall, upstanding palm leaves. The little 
lady inside is invisible, but we picture her 
seated in lonely splendor in her lofty 
prison, dreaming who knows what dreams 
of fluttering hopes and fears. The next 
camel carries a platform on which sit cross- 
legged three women singing Arab love 
songs, to which the bride in front sings 
the refrain. It is interesting and pathetic. 

Following the camels come the guests, 
the older ones on donkeys, the remainder 
on foot. The women wear their wedding 
finery; under the black draperies, we get 
glimpses of brightly-tinted silks and gaudy, 
barbaric jewels. The bridegroom is not 
there, but awaits his bride in his own 
home. 

1 80 



THe First Suffragette 

The price of a bride among the poorer 
classes varies from $50 to $250. She is 
usually selected by the mother or sister 
of the would-be bridegroom, who is al- 
lowed to see her when all arrangements 
are concluded. 

If the young people are mutually satis- 
fied after gazing into each other's eyes, as 
no conversation is permitted, the wedding 
takes place, the husband paying the bride's 
parents half her price on the engagement 
and the other half the day following the 
marriage. If the bridegroom does not 
consider the lady all his fancy depicted, 
he returns her to her parents the next day, 
forfeiting the money he has paid on his 
engagement; while if the bride finds her 
husband is not the fairy prince she hoped 
for, she returns home, the parents sending 
the deserted husband back his money. 

We pitch our tent, for lunch, under the 
meagre shade of some date palms. Before 
we are seated, we see the dignified figure 

183 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

of an old man advancing. Fadlallah hast- 
ens to meet him and we can tell by his 
dem anor that it is a person of importance. 
These Arabs are inimitable in expressing 
by their manner the exact amount of 
deference (or the reverse) to which they 
believe another to be entitled. This is the 
richest man of the d strict who has come 
to welcome us to his palm grove. 

Not far distant is a gisr. These high 
raised banks intersect the entire country. 

Before us is a continual passing of 
people and animals, which we find most 
entertaining. These moving pictures out- 
lined against the sky line are ever one of 
Egypt's chief attractions. 

Here we bid a sad farewell to the 
Fayoum, that joyous land of flowers, fruit, 
and golden harvests; and to Abdullah, 
servant of the three beys. 

As we advance the scenery becomes very 
monotonous ; an ocean of sand and desolate 
rock hills, boundless, soundless, animated 

184 



TKe First Suffragette 

by no plant, no beast, no trace of life. 
At noon when the sun beats fiercely on the 
burning sand and the air quivers with 
heat, there often appears a mirage of water, 
forming a remarkable contrast with the 
staring, dry desert. Many a poor wan- 
derer has been mocked by these phantom 
lakes, which the Bedouins have well-named 
*'Bahar Shaitun/' (Satan's water). 

In the Old Testament this desert mirage 
is alluded to by the prophet (Isaiah 
XXXV : 7), "And the serab shall become a 
real lake." The Arabs still use the word 
*' serab" when describing a mirage. 

We make our way through the desert 
till an opening in the hills shows us the 
Pyramid of Medun, first seen glowing like 
a pink pearl against the faint blue sky. 

We are once more within sight of the 
Nile. Far beyond the pyramid, on the 
other side of the river, stretches the Arab- 
ian Desert, which has many strange defiles 
not large enough to be imposing, and some- 

185 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

what monotonous, and of a chocolate 
brown color. 

Far, far away, many days* journey, on 
and on through all the changes and won- 
ders of the desert are the now disused 
quarries and mines which once yielded such 
wealth to Egypt ; where through succeeding 
generations the slaves and the captives of 
war were forced to work under the lash 
unceasingly, without pity for age or sex or 
infirmities, until death released them. 

There are still remains of the old en- 
campments. In some cases the partly 
worked mines and quarries look as though 
they had been deserted in great haste, at 
some sudden summons. Strewn about the 
marble quarries are many blocks in the 
rough, or partly trimmed. Several of them 
are numbered, and some of them addressed 
to departed Caesars. On one, shaped in 
the form of a capital, is the inscription, 
"The property of Cassar Nerva Trajan.'* 

Farther still, in the region of Suakin, 
i86 



TKe First Sviffragette 

lay the famous land of Punt, which the 
ancient Egyptians believed to have been 
the cradle of their race and the original 
home of the gods. Beyond it they 
thought was a debatable Land of the 
Shades, where men might approach the 
manes of the departed. And beyond that 
again was the abode of the gods. Punt 
was also a land of fabulous wealth, to 
which expeditions had been sent from 
time to time in quest of dwarfs, to divert 
the ennui of kings ; myrrh and incense, for 
the delectation of the gods; gold, ebony, 
skins, slaves, and many other luxuries. 

Perhaps the most notable expedition was 
that of the energetic Queen Hatshopsoui- 
tou, the first advanced woman known in 
history, the forerunner of the suffragette, 
who reigned, — an unheard of thing — as 
King over Egypt 4500 years ago. She is 
said to have distorted the laws and the 
conventions of the land, to suit a female 
ruler. 

187 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

One of the first things to which she 
directed her attention was the building of 
a temple to the God Ammon, and for her 
own glorification, which was also to be her 
burial-place. We are told that the god 
commanded, that "The ways to Punt 
shall be searched out, for I desire that you 
establish a Punt in my house and plant the 
trees of God's land beside my temple in 
my garden." 

So the expedition sets out, and the inci- 
dents are afterward recorded in pictures 
on the walls of the temple, where they are 
to this day. We see the vessels starting, 
and arrived at their destination; being 
laden with "All goodly fragrant woods of 
God's land; heaps of myrrh, resin, fresh 
myrrh trees, with ebony and pure ivory, 
with green gold of Emu, with cinnamon 
wood, with incense, eye cosmetic, baboons, 
monkeys, dogs, with skins of the south- 
ern panther, with natives and their chil- 
dren. Never was the like of this brought 

i88 



TKe First Sxiffragette 

for any king who has been since the 

beginning." 

On the successful return of the expedi- 
tion to Thebes, there rose on the west bank 
of the Nile three great terraces, with their 
myrrh gardens and delicate colonnades, to 
an elevated court where the Holy of Holies 
of the painted and sculptured Temple of 
Dehr-el-Bahari was cut in a bay of the 
cliffs which rise like a mighty bastion above 
it. When it was finished the Queen 
proudly said, "I have made him a Punt 
in his garden just as he commanded me. 
It is large enough for him to walk about 
in." 

The people of Egypt were kept busy in 
the service of the Queen, building her 
temples and monuments, raising her obe- 
lisks. (It took nine hundred and sixty 
men to man the galleys which transported 
two of them). Not only did she succeed 
in keeping her place as ruler but she kept 
in subjection her husband and half-brother 

189 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

Thoutmosis III, the greatest and most 
successful warrior of all the Pharaohs, who 
extended the Egyptian Empire to its far- 
thest limits, and who for fifteen years, till 
death ended her sway, was longing to 
start upon his conquest of Syria. Small 
wonder, after waiting while Hatshopsoui- 
tou raised temples and obelisks to herself, 
that, at her death, he hacked out her car- 
touches, her face and figure, on all the 
monuments she had built for her own glori- 
fication. But he did not annihilate her. 
She must indeed have had, in a high degree, 
that curious quality of character which, 
across the centuries has carried and made 
her a living figure to our own day. 

The God Ammon is gone, Thoutmosis, 
the conqueror is gone, and so is the great 
Queen; but something of her spirit remains 
in this temple which is like no other in 
Egypt; for there is a delicacy, a penetrat- 
ing charm, almost an intimate personal 
note, which must always be felt as one 

190 



XHe First S\iffragette 

looks at Dehr-el-Bahari with its spacious 
terraces and delicate colonnades ; gleaming 
and white in the morning, golden in the 
blazing mid-day sun, rose-colored and soft 
at sunset, as it nestles in an arm of the 
orange cliffs at Thebes. 

Near our camp the sand of the desert is 
often gray, if one were to take it in one's 
hand to examine it; but, under the trans- 
forming light of the southern sun, it is 
constantly changing like a chameleon. 
There are great sweeps of reddish-brown 
on which the heat quivers like water; 
sometimes a path of gold stretching to a 
deep blue hill, which appears as if by magic 
on the horizon; then changing to brown, 
to black, to opal, as one looks. 

For miles the long curves of sand on 
either hand rear their crests and flow away 
in long lines of the greatest delicacy and 
beauty. 

As one goes southward, the intensity of 
color increases. Massive cliffs spring 

191 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

upward to a great height ; their perpendicu- 
lar sides flaming with all shades of yellow 
and red, pale daffodil, saffron, the pink of 
sea shell, terra-cotta, blood-red. A blaze 
of color and life. 

One seems in the presence of a force so 
masterful that it must eat up, annihilate, 
all weakness. 

There is no note of sadness such as one 
sees in northern climes, where the very 
trees and shrubs often look as though tor- 
tured by the long, weary strife of nature 
trying to readjust itself unsuccessfully to 
alien conditions. Here all that is not vi- 
brating with life is dead — dead, to be 
resurrected again in another form. 

Still farther south, among the golden, 
tawny sands of the Soudan, is found the most 
dominant note of Africa — the unknown, 
the mysterious Africa, gleaming, glowing, 
stretching away to lands of eternal thirst ; 
feline, savage, with an untamed fierceness 
satisfying something fundamental in one's 

192 



TKe First Suffragette 

nature : the call of the jungle, traceable to 
those primordial ancestors whose simple 
instincts are still the master-note of our 
being. The sensation of having known it 
all before seems too vital not to be related 
to something in one's past, or the past of 
one's race. 

And the gold palpitates and flows on to 
the edge of the cultivation, sweeping in 
torrents down to the waters of the Nile. 
In the motionless air the palm trees cast 
the red shadows of their slender trunks on 
the sun-baked ground. The sun pours 
from the deep blue sky. The glowing sand 
dunes seem to crouch; waiting with quiet, 
terrific force for some dramatic event — 
about to happen. 

Accompanying the Nile as it flows by 
the radiant sands of Nubia and the fertile 
fields of Egypt, is the droning creak of the 
shadouf, by which, when the Nile is low 
(by a series of buckets attached to long 
poles), the water is lifted to the thirsty 

195 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

land. In company with its drowsy note 
is the monotonous song of the half -naked 




Photo.. J. P. Sebah 



Seti ab Abydos 

men, on whose shining, bronze skins the 
water falls as they swing the buckets above 
their heads. 

With a rhythmical motion, they stoop, 
196 



XHe First Suffragette 

and with a lilt and a spring as of a live 
thing let loose, the bucket soars upward. 
What grace in these lithe, broad-shouldered 
figures, as they regularly rise and stoop to 
their work! 

Their small heads, with noble profiles 
and over-large heavy-lidded eyes suggest 
the face of Seti on the white walls of whose 
wonderful temple at Abydos are the most 
subtly and perfectly modelled types of 
beauty in all Egypt. So successful was the 
artist that it was said he was killed by 
command of the king, that no rival should 
profit by his services. The same beauty 
lives on imperishably in the race. South 
of Assuan the type changes, the skin 
becomes darker, the figure less slender, the 
features less fine; at last, — the negro. 

We camp within a few miles of Medun, 
relic of a long-past age, older than the 
pyramids of Gizeh, built by King Snefroui 
about four thousand years B.C. 



197 




n^T^Wlff^^ 







* " - t«^ 'U-*. - ^ ^-^ ^ 




XV 

OUR LIFE IN CAMP 

Thursday, March 9th. 
Friday, March lOth. 

A ^ /"E have a disturbed night. The tents 
' ' have been pitched in an exposed 
position on stony ground which does not 
hold the pegs firmly. The wind has been 
blowing with a fierce intensity, the tents 
flapping like the sails of a ship at sea, 
seeming but a frail protection against the 
fury of the elements. All night the men 
have been going from one tent to another, 
hammering in the pegs. The animals have 

198 



, Ovir Life in Camp 

been restless and the donkeys have kept 
up an almost continual braying. 

We wake to a gray day. The dust per- 
vades our tents, obscuring the sacred writ- 
ings and the crude pattern of kaleidoscopic 
colors, lending a curious air to our sur- 
roundings: the haze, caused by the parti- 
cles of sand, giving a feeling of strange 
isolation, of being held by invisible hands 
in this unseen desert, imprisoned behind 
impalpable walls of fine dust. 

The wind has fallen and the hamseen 
has passed, but the air is full of sand, and 
the sun is hidden by the clouds. The 
desert is like a dead thing — dull, sodden, 
oppressive. The cold, damp air and the 
mist of sand are like a fog at sea ; but more 
dreary than the sea with its perpetual 
motion can ever be. Something sullen, 
almost sinister, in these great wastes takes 
hold of the spirit with a slow, crushing 
force. Dead hopes, dead loves, dead lives 
— dead and forgotten, without even the 

199 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

vicarious life of remembrance. It speaks 
of the buried past of the world — suggests 
that as so many things have gone their 
way — so shall all life, and even the world 
itself be numbered with the burned-out 
planets, whose existence is long since 
over. 

The tents are so unstable that Fadlallah 
suggests they should be moved to firmer 
ground, and a more sheltered position. 
The spot selected is about a mile away. 
We go in advance in the sand-cart. The 
tents are struck, and everything loaded on 
the backs of the camels. Each has its 
appointed load and everything is always 
put in the same place. In an incredibly 
short time we see them advancing with 
their swaying burdens. 

We watch the camp being pitched. Re- 
shid always directs, and assists himself 
with more energy than any one, though he 
has had charge of the caravan during its 
march and walked himself all of the way. 

200 



0\jr Life in Camp 

The industry and good-nature of our men 
are beyond praise. 

First come the tents. The lower section 
of the pole is pounded firmly into the 
ground; then the upper half, to which the 
roof is attached, fitted into it. The cords 
attached to the corners are unwound, 
while a man holds the pole in the centre. 
He is quite covered by the folds of the tent, 
but only for a very short time, as an Arab 
quickly takes hold of each rope, and pulls 
it taut. The tent pegs are hammered into 
the ground with a large wooden mallet. 
The sides are stretched around the circular 
top of the tent, and tied with tapes. The 
flap, which forms the doorway, is thrown 
over the sloping roof or over a tent rope. 

The rugs are undone, and the floors of 
the tents completely covered with them. 
The cots, which are packed in great water- 
proof sheets, each with its own mattress 
and bed covering, are put together and 
made up outside, and are then carried in. 

201 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

The dressing tables and chairs which are 
collapsible, are unfolded and taken to their 
appointed places. The china, glass, and 
tinware are unpacked from the great 
wooden boxes which hold them and all is 
in order. In the meantime the kitchen 
tent has been set up and the kitchen uten- 
sils, which have a box to themselves, are 
taken out. Always, directly on arrival, 
the cook's brasier is put on the ground, 
until the kitchen is ready. It is shaped 
like a small trough about three feet long 
and a foot high, and stands on four legs. 
Charcoal is put in, on which a little 
methylated spirit is usually poured to start 
the fire quickly. The old cook sits cross- 
legged beside it, fanning hard to assist the 
blaze, and the kettle is put on. As soon as 
all is ready the camel men, who have been 
helping, attend to their animals. The 
saddles and bridles are taken off the don- 
keys, which have been hobbled. The cam- 
els, which are forced to kneel as soon as 

202 



Ovir Life in Camp 

they arrive to have their packs unloaded, 
do not move but rest quietly until they are 
given their food, which they loudly chew 
for the rest of the night. Their wooden 
saddles are rarely removed, but when they 
are, the camels immediately begin to roll 
to relieve their tired backs. 

The waiters go to the assistance of the 
cooks, helping to peel the vegetables, kill 
and pluck the fowls and pigeons, open tins 
and jars. 

Naturally at the end of a long march the 
first thing, after a roof over one's head, is 
to have something to eat. Our meals con- 
sist principally of eggs in some form, lamb 
or kid, chickens which are very poor, or 
pigeons which are very good, rice cooked 
in many ways, macaroni, potatoes, tinned 
vegetables and fruit. 

After dinner we walk about our little 
village and see the animals eating and the 
camel men gathered about their fire, drink- 
ing coffee. 

203 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

Toulba is playing with a stick and a bit 
of string and crooning to himself. He is 
an uncomplaining little fellow, always quiet 
and apparently happy. 

In the kitchen tent some of the men are 
gathered telling stories. Reshid and Pan 
are sitting cross-legged on the ground near 
the dining tent. Pan with his reed pipe 
is accompanied by Reshid on a flute. We 
seat ourselves nearby and listen to the 
wandering airs. The luminous stars come 
out one by one and flame in the deep sky. 
The cadenced throbbing of the music, now 
loud, now low, is plaintive and wistful. 
The dissonances and partial tones and the 
double rhythm of the African music, which 
our untutored ears cannot even hear at 
first, have little meaning until one becomes 
accustomed to them; but, after a time they 
have an appeal which is strangely enthrall- 
ing and remains ever after in one's life, a 
power to move and fascinate. There is 
great similarity to the Cossack music, the 

204 



Oxir Life in Camp 

Greek music of the people, the Scotch 
Highland music, and that of the North 
American Indian. 

As we sit, surrounded by our small world, 
with whom we share so many interests, 
hopes, and fears, arising from the incidents 
of our common life, we realize that we do 
not penetrate beneath the surface. Behind 
each smiling face lies the mind and soul of 
the East, which we of the West shall never 
fathom. We know that the smile would 
give place to the dagger should the occasion 
and opportunity arise. 

As we look at the brilliant stars above 
our heads we see that they are not as our 
own. Their luminous beauty far surpasses 
those of the North, but they are, to our 
eyes, out of scale. With the change of 
latitude their relative positions seem no 
longer the same. Even the familiar Dipper 
would never hold water at this angle. Far- 
ther south where the Southern Cross glows 
in the sky it is almost standing on its head ! 

205 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

We are startled in the night by the loud 
patter of rain on our tents; rain that con- 
tains the relentless force of this relentless 
land, threatening to soak through our 
frail shelters. But we are learning the 
lesson of the East. Resigned to Kismet, 
we again turn to sleep. 

The next morning is glorious with life. 
Yesterday's unseen desert of veiled terrors 
appears a gracious world of warm sun- 
shine. The shrill voices of the wind have 
given place to a golden stillness. On a 
day like this how fully one recognizes the 
truth of the saying, that "he who has 
drunk Nile water must ever return. " Here 
one fits into the environment like a hand in 
a glove. In the busy haunts of men one can 
never again be quite content. We shall see 
others swimming in their natural element 
and wonder a little. Their busy activities 
will seem the dream, and the golden light, 
the waving palm branchesand the smell of 
the soil (acrid and over sweet) the reality. 

206 



0\ir Life in Camp 

Sometimes on our long marches, the sun 
blazing over our heads, the sands burning 
beneath us — so hot that one's soul melts 
within one, so thirsty that one's throat is 
like parched clay, and so tired that every 
fibre aches as we plod on — we hate Africa 
with a murderous hatred, as an enemy 
unconquerable, and yet striving to conquer 
one's very soul. Then a little breeze 
springs up, or a cloud throws a purple 
shadow across our way, or, from a sand 
crest a long sweep of limitless, golden 
desert rises to meet the blue sky on the 
horizon, and suddenly one loves it, and 
knows that the strength which made the 
hatred is part of a fascination not to be 
escaped. 

Far away in the north where the little 
hills preach peace, we shall long for the 
sword, for the fierceness, for the heights 
and the depths, for the silence and the 
breadth and the ruthlessness. The desert 
does not bring peace, it brings life. He 

207 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

"Who has heard the East a calHng will 
never heed aught else. " 

We sit in front of our tents pretending 
to read, but in reality we cannot take our 
eyes from the constant transformation of 
the great pyramid. Now it rises from the 
golden sands, as gold as they ; each moment 
it seems to have changed shape and charac- 
ter entirely. It is now dark brown and 
looks almost squat, uninteresting, and as 
though it were made of sandstone; but a 
mauve tinge creeps upward and soon it is 
all lilac and pink — a, harbinger of spring. 
Then one side turns suddenly black and 
the lilac a brilliant purple — which all passes 
as it came, and in the distance we see an 
alabaster pagoda which seems to float in 
the air, infused with ethereal loveliness 
and purity. Why move on ? Why go any- 
where? One need only sit quietly to be- 
hold an everchanging scene of beauty and 
interest. Did Snefroui in the days of old 
linger as do we and view from the plain 

208 



Ovir Life in Camp 

these marvellous changes? For then, as 
now, and through the thousands of years 
between, has the Medun pyramid offered 




W-' ■ ■'^m'^''' 






Mediin 

to the eyes of men these scenes of wonder 
and delight. As the day advances, be- 
tween us and the pyramid a great lake 
seems to stretch, in which in turn stand 
grim, pointed rocks, battlemented castles, 
and slender palm trees. Islands, with dense 
14 209 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

forests reflected in the water, change shape 
continually; and palaces lift their white 
towers in the vivid sunlight. We can even 
see the ripple of the water on this phantom 
lake. 

After luncheon we again return to our 
supposed reading, but to our real en- 
thrallment in the marvellous scene be- 
fore us. In the late afternoon we see far 
off some moving specks, which gradu- 
ally grow larger until we recognize the 
party sent early in the day for supplies. 
The camels are heavily laden, but not so 
heavily that the camel men are with 
two exceptions riding. These are little 
Hassan who is limping and Jemha the 
black camel man. He is a Berber and a 
slave, and the most reliable of the camel 
men. He never sleeps at his post or 
causes trouble. When we first saw him 
we thought he was wearing dark gray 
gloves, his hands are such a curious color. 
He has a gentle, sad face, and we wish 

2IO 



Our Life in Oamp 

that we could speak to him and learn 
his story. 

The slave trade has greatly diminished, 
but it is not yet entirely at an end. But 
slaves are well treated in Egypt. For one 
reason they are valuable, and also the 
Egyptians are naturally a kindly people. 
That is, the real Egyptians. The Arabs 
are considered by many to have inherited 
the qualities of their ancestor Ishmail 
whose ^'hand was against every man." 
The ruling classes were notably cruel in 
the days of the Turkish rule. But latterly 
when a fellah was threatened with the 
whip if he did not accede to some extortion- 
ate demand, he replied, "The English are 
here and you cannot beat me. " 

We remonstrate about little Hassan 
though we do not think that it is of much 
avail. 

In the distance we see the green oasis 
and the glimmering Nile, and beyond, form- 
ing a great amphitheatre, stand the Mo 

211 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

Rattam hills, jagged cliffs against the blue- 
green sky. Range upon range of mauve, 
rose, yellow peaks sweep the horizon, the 
valleys between them filled with myster- 
ious, deep blue shadows, changing in color 
from moment to moment so completely 
that new mountains and valleys seem to 
replace those just vanished. 

A pause, a hush, seems to hold the earth 
in suspense — then the world is suddenly 
illuminated by ''a light that never was on 
sea or land," a miracle renewed each day 
in this land of wonders at the setting of the 
sun. The translucent air quivers like water 
and glows with an increasing radiance 
until all things seem to have become lumi- 
nous of themselves. It is no longer the 
world of common things. Surely lovely 
princesses inhabit those marvellous hills 
where the most joyful of the pagan deities 
may still wander, and the fairies must be 
watching from behind every comer ! Grad- 
ually the glory fades, grayness creeps over 

212 



0\jr Life in Camp 

the far hills and across the broad valley 
like an advancing tide. Only the great 
Medun pagoda stands, deep gold against 
the encroaching shadows burning and 
flaming as with an inward fire — consuming 
itself in the worship of dead gods. 




213 




XVI 



A RUNAWAY LUNCH 



Saturday, March 11. 

TT is with a pang we feel that our trip is 
^ nearly over, and that our faces must 
be turned homeward. 

For the first time in our vagabond life, 
we are to make for a definite place with 
the idea of reaching it at a more or less 
definite time. We feel, at first, as though we 
had been put in irons and the joy and vari- 
ety of life had dropped to the ground with 
the uncertainty . It is no longer * * maleesh, ' * 
but *'We really must be starting. " 

214 



A R\ina^way LxincK 

While our caravan heads straight for the 
north, we make a detour to visit the Pyra- 
mid of Medun. 

Mirage, the phantom lake, still stretches 
before us. As we ride forward we feel that 
we must step into the water which seem- 
ingly retreats not more than a yard in ad- 
vance. Toulba actually retreats. He has 
achieved one of the ambitions of his young 
life. He has managed to make off, astride 
the best donkey, which has a side saddle. 
His small legs are beating against the 
donkey's sides like a flail, while one arm 
brandishes a whip. His black cloak is 
floating behind him in the breeze, and his 
ears are, naturally, deaf to the shouts which 
bid him stop. However, this proud burst 
of freedom is of short duration, for he is 
soon overtaken, and a very sulky little 
Toulba is then seen riding, as a pun- 
ishment, on the poorest donkey in the 
caravan. 

As we approach the pyramid, its at- 
215 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

traction grows, and we recognize that we 
are on virtually untrodden ground. The 
phantom of the dead past holds us in its 
grip. Where are the countless thousands 
who rejoiced and sorrowed in these dim 
ages, the great intellects that conceived 
and created these temples, the civilization 
that once made the arid desert to flower? 
All is now desolate, barren, silent. 

The hyena and the fox haunt these soli- 
tudes, and the owl screeches at night in the 
forsaken tombs. 

"Here sultan after sultan with his pomp 
Abode his destined hour, and went his way. " 

Under the trackless sand at our feet 
perhaps lies the remains "of a city once 
great and gay, so they say," — all that Time 
and the Desert have not devoured is this 
sepulchre of a king whose body was stolen 
from its resting-place in ancient times. 

This tomb was built by Snefroui, 
the first Pharaoh to emerge from the 

216 



-A. R\ina>vay L\incH 

shadows of semi-historical days. A thou- 
sand years after his death, a phrase in com- 







..«»v*..^ ;.,.« 


^ 




^ 


1 


^#1 :- \ f 


J 



Chephren 

mon use was, "There has not been the hke 
since the days of Snefroui. " He opened 
the commerce of Egypt with Phoenicia, 
founded her influence in Sinai, conquered 
rebellious tribes, developed mines, made 

217 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

roads, and established his country on a 
firm basis of prosperity. 

Little is known of the deeds of his succes- 
sor, Cheops, who built the Great Pyramid, 
and less still of the next Pharaoh, Chephren. 

From the earliest times, as is shown by 
the first inscriptions, known as the pyra- 
mid texts, the person of the king is always 
identified with that of the god. Chephren 
sits now in the museum at Cairo, a life- 
sized statue, the first impersonation of the 
divine right of kings, a figure of infinite 
dignity and repose. With a curious aloof- 
ness, which the Greeks gave to their 
immortals, the aloofness of one who is 
beyond the struggle and pain of the world, 
knowing and understanding with a human 
sympathy and more than human wisdom; 
with the faint elusive smile of Egypt, which 
lies in the eyes and the whole expression 
more than in the lips, speaking of profound 
understanding of the mysteries of life 
rather than gaiety. It is to be seen in the 

218 



A Rxina-way LvincK 

archaic Greek statues influenced by Egypt- 
ian art, and disappears from the world 




A Modern Mona Lisa 

until reinvoked by Leonardo da Vinci in 
the Italian Renaissance — that rebirth of 
the spirit of paganism. 

One wonders what the civilization (which 
219 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

we can so imperfectly reconstruct) must 
have been which could produce a work of 
art that can so subtly but so clearly define 
the highest attributes of kingship. To 
this day all the world may see that Cheph- 
ren was a great, powerful, and wise king, 
as he sits there seemingly judging, not 
harshly, all efforts and failures and suc- 
cesses. Transitory enough they must seem 
to eyes that have looked on life and all 
that has come and gone these thousands 
of years, leaving Egypt still Egypt. How 
many conquerors have passed over the 
land and gone their way ! Ethiopian, Assy- 
rian, Persian, Greek, Roman, Arab, Turk, 
French. While the busy people whom we 
left in the "Happy tomb of Ti, '* are work- 
ing with the same implements, in the fields, 
on the river, in the villages. The same 
faces, the same gestures, the same cheerful 
activity. What persistence of type ! The 
fellaheen of five thousand years ago are 
the fellaheen of to-day. 

220 



A. R\jna"way LvincH 

Numerous mastahas have been discov- 
ered in which the high priests and nobles 
had their tombs. Some of the bas-rehefs 
found in them are very fine, notably a 
panel in which geese are represented with 
the utmost fidelity to nature. It is so 
perfect in treatment, detail, and spirit, that 
no better representation of bird-life has 
been executed since it was placed in the 
tomb for the delectation of the Ka of 
some Egyptian, now since dead! Some of 
the bas-reliefs have been removed to the 
Cairo Museum, while the mastahas have 
been reburied in the sand to save them 
from the depredations of the natives. 

It is sometimes wondered that artists of 
such consummate skill, and with such 
truth to life, should have had so little 
command of perspective. 

"They almost all made it a rule not to 
attempt to depict the ground, substituting 
for it a single straight line, on which the 

221 



in tHe Libyan Desert 

persons included in the same scene moved, 
and by which they were supported. In the 
upper rows they depict scenes that distance 
did not permit them to perceive any more 
than it does us, despite the incredible trans- 
parency of the air. And they attribute to 
them the same proportions as those of the 
scenes in the lower rows. These defects were 
imposed on them by the ritual of their religion. 
Were not these pictures so carefully and 
accurately executed, really magic charms on 
the composition of which depended the sur- 
vival of a human being after death? The 
slightest error might imperil the destiny of 
the double, and so the artists were obliged to 
sacrifice the probabilities of perspective to 
minute truth of detail."^ 

It is from one of these half ruined tombs 
that the beautiful life-size colored statues 
of Nofrit and her husband Rahotpu were 
brought to light. 

The whole statue of the Princess, seated 
with her hands upon her knees is instinct 
with energy and character. The face, and 

^ Maspero, Egypt: Ancient Sites and Modern Scenes. 
222 



particularly the eyes, which are of rock 
crystal and metal, express a shrewd, prac- 
tical, domineering character, but not dis- 
tinguished, elevated, or poetic. Indeed, 
rather the reverse, efficient but terre 
d terre. None of that splendid vitality 
had been wasted upon dreams, however 
beautiful. A thoroughly modern person- 
ality is the first impression. But to feel 
that our age alone is characterized by force 
and initiative is rather absurd. It is only 
necessary to examine the Egyptian statues 
and bas-reliefs of the best period, to see 
how false is this belief. By her side sits 
her husband, supposed to be the son of the 
Pharaoh Snef roui. What a contrast ! The 
face of the son of the King is weak ; at least, 
he could never be a leader of men. In 
spite of his curious brown color (in contrast 
to the vivid white of his wife) which sug- 
gests negro blood, but for which various 
reasons are given — as, for example, that 
the life of men was supposed to be spent 

223 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

under the bronzing rays of the African sun 
and that of women in the houses^he has 
a greater look of race than she. The eyes 
which gaze straight before him are those 
of a dreamer of dreams. He might die for 
a lost cause but could never bend circum- 
stances to his will. Was the indomitable 
lady beside him one of those vampire 
women who crush the lives nearest them? 
Did the artist knowingly leave a tragedy 
in stone for the world to ponder on? 
On the face of the Prince all may read a 
pathetic look of unsuccess — one who knows 
he is misunderstood but who is too proud, 
or weak, or wise for explanations — one who 
had failed in the things demanded which 
were not those he could have accomplished ; 
who still knows that under a luckier star 
he might not have been counted a failure. 
The color of the pyramid is a lovely, soft 
orange, and from its enormous base there 
rises a square tower in three tiers. Once 
there were seven tiers, but time has robbed 

224 



the pyramid of much of its glory and 
height. 

What an atmosphere of serene calm 
broods over this land ! The present drops 
away like a discarded garment. One is 
steeped in the ''sentiment d'histoire"; the 
life of bygone ages. The desert is full of 
whispers; ghosts come and go; and even 
in the hot sunshine, the silence seems 
peopled with the shades of the dead 
Pharaohs. From the misty ocean of time 
comes the murmur of the past. 

We climb some way up the crumbling 
pyramid and look below on the rifled 
tombs half hidden in the sand which 
obliterates so quickly the works of 
men hiding their secrets in its grim 
depths. 

The great kites of Egypt circle above 
our heads uttering their shrill screams ; and 
in the infinite blue sky is poised a hawk, 
which with slow movements of the wings 
circles slowly above us, then suddenly lets 
IS 225 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

himself drift on the wind with hanging 
legs and bent head, searching for his prey. 
As he hangs in the air, with outstretched 
wings touched by the sun, he seems an 
incarnation of the "Golden Horus, " God 
of the Sun, as he is represented every- 
where on the temples and tombs of ancient 
Egypt. 

In this land of golden light where the 
rays of the sun are the givers of life, of 
death, of beauty; in whose beams one is 
bathed till the pains and sorrows of life 
seem exorcised, who shall resist the spell! 
All must become as we, worshippers of 
Horus, the Sun-god. 

On descending a little on the north side, 
we find the mouth of the shaft which gives 
entrance to the burial chamber. We ex- 
change a few words with the dark guardian 
of the pyramid, who cannot count on the 
backsheesh of the tourist in this lonely 
spot, still practically unknown to the 

travelling public. 

226 



On overtaking our caravan at midday, 
we discover that the dromedary which 




The Lost Lunch 

carries our lunch has followed us to Medun 
and missed us. As the camel man has 
only one eye, and is not overgifted with 

227 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

brains, there seems little chance of his 
finding us again. Our poor donkey boys, 
who run all day with bare feet through the 
hot sand, are sent up every hill and point 
of observation to wave their white cloaks 
in the vain hope of the one eye seeing 
them, while the watchmen fire their guns 
hoping to attract his attention. 

For once the donkey boys are too busy 
and excited, running hither and yon, to 
prod the donkeys. So ingrained is this 
habit that they must have been either 
prodding or rhythmically beating the flanks 
of the patient little creatures with their 
cane-like whips, since the days of the 
Pharaohs. It is useless to beg a donkey 
boy to stop, to assure him that you can do 
your own beating, or to take his whip from 
him. He would find or borrow another 
in the midst of the Sahara; nor can you 
restrain him by offering backsheesh (the 
strongest of all arguments with an Arab), 
or even by making him go in front of you. 

228 



A Rvma-way LvincH 

Remove your eyes for one moment and the 
well-known jerk of the donkey, as if he 
were unhitching his hind quarters, will 
soon tell you the donkey boy has returned 
to work. 

Jemha, our black camel man, in his zeal 
goes farther afield than the others, and in 
a valley comes upon a Bedouin driving a 
herd of goats. The poor man, thinking 
he has fallen into the hands of a robber, 
drops upon his knees, begging Jemha to 
take his goats but spare his life. No 
protestations can convince him that Jemha 
is only in search of a lost camel, and the 
Bedouin flies, leaving his goats to their 
fate. 

Once a camel in the distance causes a 
flutter, but it is not our dromedary with the 
"one-eyed son of a Caliph," as we had 
named him on learning that he belonged 
to a very good family that had fallen on 
evil days. 

Seeing that all efforts to regain our 
229 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

runaway lunch are fruitless, we make a 
halt, and the cook descends from his camel 
to see what food he can prepare. After 
unloading several animals and raising our 
expectations to fever heat, it suddenly 
occurs to our simple-minded follower that 
there is no water with which to cook; so 
we have to content ourselves with bread, 
fruit, raw eggs, and milk. 

We eventually camp on a hill-side over- 
looking the Nile valley. 

We walk to the hill-top to have a more 
extended view. The moon is riding in the 
clear blue sky. It seems just above our 
heads and looks absolutely opaque. We 
can see raised surfaces as though it were 
modelled in plaster of Paris. The face of 
''the man in the moon" appears like a 
bas-relief with clear-cut features. In the 
distance the sails of the Nile boats look 
like great white butterflies skimming on 
the face of the water. As night descends 
they assume a gray, mysterious hue. Like 

230 



A Rvina-way LxincH 

ghosts they glide on, vanishing into the 
deeper darkness. 

A Httle owl is sitting on a stone uttering 
its pathetic cry, which is echoed back by a 
distant comrade. Evidently we are an 
unknown quantity in this desert, as the 
owl shows no fear and continues its 
friendly conversation. But its faith is 
sadly misplaced; there is a loud report, the 
small brown body falls in a crumpled heap, 
and we turn to see Fadlallah with a smok- 
ing gun. On upbraiding him for his wan- 
ton cruelty he replies that an owl hooted 
at his window for several nights before his 
father died. Since then he always shoots 
the bird of ill omen. 

Late this evening the dromedary returns 
with a very sad and weary rider. His lips 
are swollen with thirst, he has eaten noth- 
ing all day, but has ridden backward and 
forward in a hopeless quest. When we 
see him, his one eye is weeping, and he 
looks such a pitiful object that we beg 

231 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

Fadlallah to show mercy. He refuses to 
see him this night, wisely letting the sun 
set on his anger, for as he says, "My eyes 
are on fire and my blood runs hot. But 
I cannot beat him because he is of good 
family." 

We are told that we shall need an extra 
guard as the nearby villagers are "bad 
people." We do hear shots in the night, 
but also the sound of beaten tom-toms, so 
probably the "bad people" are only hav- 
ing a fantasia. 

When all is silent except for the occa- 
sional barking of the village dogs, we hear 
again our little Pan plaintively fluting and 
singing: 

"The wind knocked at my door and I said 
my little sweetheart has come to me, 

Therefore art thou a rogue, oh wind, who 
laughs at a grieving heart." 

Eternal longing, eternal hope! 

232 




XVII 



AN AFRITE 



Sunday, March 12th. 

A S we look about us we are confronted 
^^^ with two untidy-looking mounds. 
They are the remains of the pyramids of 
Lisht. With their casing all torn away, 
giving them the appearance of enormous 
rubbish heaps, it is difficult to believe they 
contain the sacred bodies of the mighty 
Pharaohs. 

The tombs lie at such a depth beneath 
the sand, that the water has flooded them, 

233 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

and at present it is impossible to enter, or 
know certainly which of the Pharaohs are 
buried there. The royal mummies, rest- 
ing in their heavy stone coffins in the deep 
waters, "defy the archaeologists of to-day 
as firmly as they defied the robbers of 
olden time." 

We start upon our homeward journey. 

After two hours travelling we find our- 
selves once more at Dashoor, our old 
camping ground of happy memory. 

We see again the white marabout tombs 
standing in the green groves, and the big 
sycamore tree under which young camels 
are playing. 

This time we take the lower and shorter 
route to Sakhara, by the edge of the cultiva- 
tion, passing swamps on which are num- 
bers of ducks, herons, cranes, and snipe. 

Farther on, as we cross a strip of desert, 
our curiosity is excited on seeing a number 
of men apparently excavating. Are we 
in the nick of time to see a mummy 

234 




235 



An Afrite 

unearthed, or jewels that have graced a 
queen four thousand years ago brought to 
light again? We arrive at the scene to 
find a busy horde digging for salt ! 

The heat is intense, and the sand-cart, 
though it had done extraordinary feats 
across country, is obliged to make long 
detours to avoid the fields of corn and 
dourah, which invariably have big banks 
with ditches surrounding them, calculated 
to try the jumping powers of an Irish 
hunter. 

As we journey northwards there appears 
in the far distance, round a bend of the 
twisting river, the beautiful mosque of 
Muhommed Ali; poised like a shining 
jewel on the Mo Rattam hills, its slender 
minarets outlined against the evening sky. 
The city of Cairo in the plain beneath is 
hidden from us, a blur of green telling of 
its groves and long avenues of acacias. 

Towards nightfall we pass near a large 
cemetery on the edge of the desert. Our 

237 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

watchman Reshid being weary and wishing 
to make a short cut, carelessly walks 
through it, thereby tempting the powers of 
evil, with the unfortunat: result that in 
the distance he sees a woman in black, 
who soon transforms herself into a woman 
in white. He then knows that an afrite has 
entered into him. "His blood changes," 
and from having been a happy, sunny 
youth, he becomes dejected, haggard, ner- 
vous. All the Arabs are sure he is pos- 
sessed, but hope, as the afrite has only just 
entered him, that a holy man will be 
found with a charm potent enough to 
exorcise the evil spirit. 

All Arabs firmly believe in the existence 
of these genii, or afrite who, as taught by 
the Koran, are an intermediate order of 
creatures who eat and drink, live and die, 
and in many ways resemble mankind. 
There are good and evil genii, and they 
can make themselves visible under the guise 
of animals and more especially snakes. 

238 



An Afrite 

When passing through dark alleys, grave- 




Photo., P. Dittrich 

Prayer 

yards, or likely haunts of the evil ones, an 
Arab will recite a verse of the Koran to 

239 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

protect himself. At the great Day of 
Resurrection, the genii and animals will 
appear as well as men. 

From a far minaret once more we hear 
the voice of the muezzin. Clear and sweet 
it rings out through the silence its hymn 
to the Great Creator; a sound to thrill, to 
inspire, to move its believing hearers to a 
reverent adoration — "Allahu Akbar,'' the 
call rises to heaven, and countless thousands 
prostrate themselves in prayer. 

Fadlallah is anxious to have us camp 
in a large grove of palm trees which we 
can see in the distance, but our strength 
fails us some miles short of it. Even 
Toulba seems to be crying with fatigue, 
though he did not complain. He is limply 
sitting on his donkey and tears are slowly 
running down his dusty face, leaving lines 
of white where they flow. This may be 
due to some other cause, for he has again 
and again gone through days so arduous 
and tiring that they would have killed a 

240 



An Afrite 

European child of his age. It is impossible 
not to be fond of the self-contained, little 
fellow. His never-failing pluck and self- 
control are admirable, and his most annoy- 
ing pranks are undertaken with an almost 
sweet seriousness. We have seen him rid- 
ing hour after hour, under the hot sun, 
through the burning sand, without a mur- 
mur. Contentedly playing near the camp, 
by himself or with his little slave ; dancing 
with the men on moonlight nights, his 
stick valiantly raised above his head, a 
quaint imitation of his elders, in min- 
iature. Never noisy, or querulous, or 
talkative; a serious baby, dignified and 
serene. The inscrutable dark eyes, in 
his soft round face, sometimes light up 
with a most winning smile, which almost 
takes one into his confidence — again one 
has all but grasped, at least, the infant 
soul of the East, — then it escapes. 

So our last night is spent with the sand- 
hills of the desert rising in a semi-circle 
16 241 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

around us, with a carpet of sweet-scented 
iris at our feet. 

Our Arabs are in a cheerful mood. From 
their end of the camp come snatches of 
music, sounds of mild revelry. They have 
finished their frugal supper. 

Reshid is reciting to them the history 
of Sidi Okba, — and the tale of this 
mighty warrior of Islam is one that 
never palls. Sidi Okba started his bril- 
liant career as barber to the Prophet. 
After Mahommed's death he led a small 
body of Arab tribesmen into Egypt, 
which he speedily subjugated, and he 
never sheathed his sword till the whole 
of Northern Africa lay conquered at his 
feet. On reaching Morocco, he spurred 
his horse into the Atlantic, and mourned 
that the waves alone prevented his 
carrying his victories beyond. From 
sea to sea the faith of Mahommed 
triumphed. 

Sidi Okba now lies in an oasis in the far 
242 



An Afrite 

Sahara where a beautiful mosque has been 
built over his remains. He is one of the 
great saints of Islam, and there are nu- 
merous marabout tombs to do him honor, 
while his memory is venerated through the 
whole Moslem world. 

By the light of the stars we can see 
the forms of our men dimly, as one 
after another jumps to his feet and 
dances. 

We draw nearer to the gay party. 
Toulba who has completely recovered is 
holding a stick under his chin as he circles 
round, his small body shaking and quiver- 
ing, his tiny brown feet shuffling on the 
sands. AH claps his hands and gazes at 
his little master with fond admiration, 
while Said plays his reed flute and Ahmed 
beats the derabukka. 

After a time all seek the shelter of their 
tents; gradually the sounds cease, save the 
faint throbbing of a distant tom-tom, and 
the monotonous, pulsating music seems 

243 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

not so much to interrupt the stillness as 
to make it more felt. And even the lumi- 
nous-low, hanging stars, seem listening to 
the silence. 



244 




XVIII 



OUR JOURNEY S END 



Monday, March 13th. 

\ A 7"E step outside our tents and inhale 

^ ^ the cool air of the morning, feasting 
our eyes on the splendor of the rising sun as 
it lights the hills and paints the valleys with 
colors unknown in Northern latitudes. The 
desert shakes off the blue cloak of night, 
its golden sands are bathed in a glow of 
sunshine. The far mountains to the east, 
rose-tinted with the birth of the sun, are 

245 



In tHe Libyan Desert 



«j 



of an ethereal beauty ; the colors glow and 
die to reappear in a mingling of purple and 
orange, which gradually in the noonday 
merge into the white radi- 
ance of heat. 

At breakfast we notice 
that the smiles of our 
servants are broader than 
usual; their faces beam 
with joy. Abd-es-Sadak 
with simple dignity ex- 
plain s , ' ' Inshallah! ere 
another sun has set I shall 
see my wife and baby 
daughter," while Ahmed 
appears equally anxious 
to return to the bosom 
of his family. At the same time, with 
innate good manners and tact, they as- 
sure us of their sorrow at leaving our 
service, that it is with grief they bid fare- 
well to their patrons. It is somewhat of 
a surprise to hear that these two youths, 

246 




fcj-aaii. iifiiiiiiii 



Ovjr Jovjrney's End 

who scarcely number forty years between 
them, are the fathers of famihes. 

These Arabs are generally devoted 
parents, and cases of cruelty to children 
are practically unknown. It is very pleas- 
ant to see their unfailing courtesy and 
thought for the young as well as for the 
old. It is enjoined upon them by the 
Koran to treat the aged, the sick, and 
the blind with special kindness, and to give 
of their wealth to the poor for ''of what- 
ever good thing ye shall give them in alms, 
of a truth God will take knowledge," but 
*'a kind speech and forgiveness are better 
than alms followed by injury.** And 
again, in the beautiful surah entitled, ** Day- 
break, " those who, "because of their great 
and splendid possessions behave insolently 
in the land, " are censured. 

Nearly 1300 years ago, when Christian 
Europe was in a state of semi-barbarism, 
its literature dispersed or lost, the fine 
arts extinct, Islam arose, binding the wild 

247 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

hordes of Arabia together in the brother- 
hood of a powerful faith. And in a short 
time these Arabs estabHshed brilHant cen- 
tres of advanced civihzation in the chief 
cities of Asia, Africa, and Southern Europe. 
Bagdad became the home of philosophers, 
poets, and men of letters; and in Cairo, 
Cordova, and many another city, libraries 
were collected, and schools of medicine, 
mathematics, and natural history flour- 
ished. Europe is indebted to Islam for the 
preservation of much of the classical litera- 
ture of the ancient world. 

To many an Arab his religion is a living 
thing, ever present in his daily life; a 
power to console in sorrow, a faith enabling 
him to face trouble with resignation, death 
without flinching. But the modern spirit 
of unbelief is beginning to attack the 
Mohammedan world. 

We watch with pain our tents collapse 
for the last time. We sit as we have 
often sat before, in the sand-cart, while 

248 



0\jr Jovirney's End 

our household gods are packed away on 
the backs of the kneeHng camels, who 




A tiller of the fields 

protest with much groaning that they 
are being overburdened. This is a con- 
firmed habit of the brute, as exemplified 

249 



In tKe Libyan Desert 

in the case of a lady who opened her para- 
sol, which she had been carrying furled; 
whereupon the camel decided that this 
was an extra burden, the proverbial last 
straw, and promptly knelt down groaning. 
Some of the tillers of the fields came to 
watch our departure, among them a curi- 
ous little creature of perhaps sixteen sum- 
mers. Her dark hair had a yellow scarf 
wound round it, and with guileless sim- 
plicity the two plaits which fell from under 
it to her waist, were stained bright red 
with henna, as were the tips of her fingers. 
She had large ear-rings of blue beads, and 
many rows of them twisted round her 
neck. Although a daughter of the soil, 
a more keen, alert, self-possessed little 
person it would be difficult to find. Not 
so her husband, who was more like the 
peasant depicted by Millet; a lout with a 
sad, hopeless, brutalized expression ; unlike 
the contented, intelligent look generally 
met with on the faces of the fellaheen. 

250 



0\jr Jo\arney's End 

We wend our way through the palm 
woods that we failed to reach the night 
before. We pass the sakiehs at work, 
the great wheel, forever turning, propelled 
by the patient oxen, while the creaking 
and wailing never ceases, and the lifted 
water empties itself into the little channels 
which run through the thirsty land. 

Fields of sugar-cane rustle in the wind, 
and pigeon houses rear their heads like 
square towers among the mimosas and 
acacias. 

A half veiled woman, a jar of water on 
her head, moves lightly through the palm 
woods; a fellah boy in blue cotton shirt and 
white skull cap is singing a dreamy song 
as he drives his goats before him ; children 
with henna-stained hair and hands, glass 
bracelets on their tiny wrists, cluster round 
crying for backsheesh. 

We reach Sakhara with all its well- 
remembered dirt and picturesqueness, its 
groups of solemn Arabs sitting cross-legged 

253 



In tHe Libyan Desert 

on benches outside the tavern, drinking 
coffee, playing dominoes, smoking the nar- 
ghileh or the more modem cigarette. 

On the flat house-tops the women are 
cooking and gossiping with their neighbors, 
while in the narrow street below resound 
the cries of the sellers of water, sellers of 
bread, sellers of wonderful syrups. 

We experience some difficulty in getting 
the sand-cart through the crowd, and our 
way is not made easier when we meet a 
string of camels whose burdens brush the 
houses on either side. 

A fine-looking Arab, wearing the green 
turban that proclaims him a Hadji, steps 
from a white-washed house, and with 
Oriental hospitality offers us refreshment. 
He is the sheikh of the village and has 
twice made the sacred pilgrimage to 
Mecca. 

On leaving Sakhara behind us, we find 
ourselves once more in the trodden world 
of tourists, galloping donkeys, blue 

254 




Wayfarers in the Libyan Desert" 
Marabout's tomb 



255 



0\ar Joxirney's End 

goggles, white helmets, kodaks, and all the 
aids to modern sight-seeing. 

After nineteen days of the simple life it 
is with mixed feelings that we enter again 
the rush and turmoil of civilization. 

What have the past days held for us but 
endless variety, beauty, color, and interest ; 
and every hour has had its charm. Truly 
the desert, like the sea, ''washes away the 
cares of men. 

THE END 







257 



DEC 6 1912 



SKETCH MAP 

SHOWING THE. ROUTE rf\ 

FROM CAIRO TO ELL- FAY O 
RETURN 



...... sz AUTHOR'S HO UTC 

^lZtE EtEI = CUCTIVATEO LAND 

,, Drawn for 

Wayfarers in the Libyan , 




^-f^JEfE 



'W 



SKETCH MAP 

SHOWING THE. ROUTE. TRAVELLED 
FROM CAIRO TO EL-FAYOUM AND 
RETURN 



= AUTHOR'S ROUTC 

lEr^ErEL - cuctivated land 

, Drawn for 

Wayfarers in the Libyan Desert''^ 




DEC e 




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